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THE 



HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES 



AND OTHER 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



WM. D. S. ALEXANDER. 



REPRINTED FROM THE LONDON EDITION 



V 



LONDON : 

LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, LONGMANS, A ROBERTS. 

1859. 



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THOMAS M'OILL, PRINTER, VTASHINGTON, D. C. 



THE 



HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES 



AND OTHKR 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



% 



\VM. D. S. ALEXxlNDER. 



HEPRINTED FROM THE LONDON EDITION. 



LONDON : 

LONGMAX, BROWN, GREEN. LONGMANS, & ROBERTS. 

1859. 









Entered according to act of Congress, in the yJaKlSSQ, 

By C. L. Alexander, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Columbia. 



T(.> 



CHARLES DICKENS. ESQ.. 

THE FOLLOWING POFMS 

ABE 

WITH HIS K I X 1) P K K M 1 JS S 1 N 

BT 

THE ATTHOR. 



1* 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

The Heemit of the Pyrenees ...... i 

Part I. The Hermit, and his Cell in the Tallej' of Luz - 9 

'* 11. The Ilermit and the Man - - - - 19 

" III. Story of the Bear-Hunter - - - - 35 

" IV. The Val d'Osseau 57 

•' V. Story of Marie d'Aoste 67 

'• YI. The Peak of Bagnieres - - - - - 91 

MijCELiAXEOUs Poems and Sonnets ..... 109 



1 

1 



TO 



Will thine eye look upon this mystic page ? 

And wilt thou know from whom these visions come ? 

Or art thou so much changed since last we met 

That at this hour thou canst no longer tell 

What hand thus writes — what burdened heart pours out 

The current of its woe ? 

Not as in former days 
Can I now murmur forth a dulcet lay, 
Or charm thine ear with glad enlivening song — 
The storm, the blight have entered here within, 

And all is bitterness 

Where once was life and joy. 



X 

Yes, I have suffered heavily and long, 

And still appears no end, no cheering goal, 

No welcome haven shining from afar, 

Reward for present trial. All is dark. 

And through the deepening shades I wander on ! 

Yet in my spirit burns 

A fierce consuming fire 
That will not rest, but ever and anon 
Shoots meteor-like into the spangled heaven, 
Then sinks again. The other stars are bright — 

No sympathy is there ! 

It ended all with thee. 



-My path lies through the wilderness of life, 
Or mid its rocky mountains, cold and drear, 
Thine, in the cultured gardens of the earth, 
Where perfumed flowers and shady groves appear, 
And palaces disclose their marble fronts. 

The edifice /raised 

Once on a time for thee 
Hath fall'n to ruin, and ivy hath o'errun 
The spots where roses bloomed. l\rchance thoullt say 
It matters not how soon all trace is gout- ; 

But I can linger still 

About it with regret. 



XI 

Art thou quite happy in thy present state ? 
Surrounded by the riches of the world — 
Doth not one thought of former days return, 
And hang upon the bright horizon, like 
A summer cloud to veil the blazing sun ? 

True, I have heard thee say 

Thou wouldst look on the Past 
As on a di'eam, all bodiless and light ! 
Not from thy spirit came those thoughtless words : 
With all thy might thou canst not conquer Thought ! 

And Thought will wander back 

To scenes of former days. 



Yet why to thee do I address these lines ? 
On which, perchance, thine eyes will never rest — 
And if they should, what follows? O'er the grave 
Which will be opened in the past again 
Wilt thou let fall one warm regretful tear? — 
I'll fain believe as much. 
And treasure up the flower 
That on the spot will raise its gentle head — 
One rose amid this wilderness to bloom 
And waft its perfume through the chilling air! . . 
peace ! The thread I weave 
Breaks in my hand — Farewell I 



THE 



)^4r 



^ ILt^tn'is o£ fiit fountains. 



NOTE. 



At the south-eastern extremity of the beautiful valley of 
Luz, in the Pyrenees, upon an eminence, rises an old and 
half-ruined Tower, which, it is said, was for a number of 
years tenanted by a lonely Recluse. 



INTRODUCTION. 



-»•►- 



Still, mighty mountains ! still my fancy flies 
Back to the clime where you sublimely rise, 
Robed in dark cloudy mantles and ice-crowned — 
Befitting sovereigns of the plains around ! 
From east to west your serried ranks extend, 
And with the skies above their glories blend ; 
Now lovely in rich verdant slopes and woods 
Where beauty wanders and where silence broods, 
Now gently sinking into valleys, meet, 
To be for Love or Age the calm retreat : 
Now terrible in dismal waste or steep 
Down which the angry torrents madly sweep. 
Burst from the towering cliff in foaming surge 
Or thunder through the dark and hollow gorge ; — 
Where Desolation, nature's anarchy. 
Revels and mocks at Order's monarchy. 

Such wondrous scenes, with ever-varied hue, 
Rise like enchantment to the stranger's view ; 



4 THE HERMIT OF 

And, if his soul at grandeur in him glows, 

Around his glances with delight he throws ! 

Imagination, freed from meaner things. 

Soars proudly upward on its eagle wings — 

Surveys the cataract, the verdant vale 

Whose balmy odours rise upon the gale. 

Or broods majestic o'er some precipice 

Belted with clouds and capped with glittering 

ice, 
Where angel ministers alone have trod 
In blest communion with great Nature's God. 
What voice of earth could raise its feeble key 
To the full compass of a melody 
That in its golden and inspired flow 
Might all the overwhelming wonders show 
Which, ever-loved and glorious mountains ! you 
Within your granite bosoms hide from view ? 
Not mine the power to raise this mighty song, 
And o'er our land its thrilling notes prolong : 
Not mine to sing the splendours of a clime 
Where beauty sits upon a throne sublime — 
Beneath a sun, displays her radiant smiles, 
Unfelt, unknown in our cold northern isles. 

Wake ! ye that slumber on from hour to hour 
And know not beauty in its pride and power ! ■ 
Awake, and worship at those cloud-capped shrine.s 
Whereon a never-dying grandeur shines ; 



THE PYRENEES. 5 

Where I have worshipped and inhaled a joy 
Whose memory no time can e'er destroy — 
Sweet as rich nectar in the brimming bowl 
W^as that blest draught to my enraptured soul ! 
Rise from your too voluptuous revels, ye 
Pale children of that false fiend Luxury, 
Whose hours are barren as a waste of sand 
When the tide-wafted waters leave the strand — 
Whose days too oft are nights — whose nights are 

days 
Consumed amid the empty dazzling rays 
Of gilded lamps that shed their light on courts. 
Or baser temples where foul Crime resorts. 
Awake ! ye in speculation bold, 
Whose thoughts are wealth, whose only God is Gold ! 
Wake to the true One ! who deigns not to dwell 
Where men their souls and bodies buy and sell ; 
Nor glitters in the myriad shining gems 
That deck profusely Pleasure's diadems — 
Awake, I say, worldly ones awake ! 
And pilgrimage to Nature's altars make. 
There worship Him at whose pervading voice 
The hills and valleys tremble or rejoice ! 

Majestic mountains ! I have known you long 
And cling yet to you with affection strong : 
My fate hath snatched me from your rugged breasts 
Yet with you ever my crushed spirit rests — 

2* 



6 THE HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES. 

In daylight roaming 'mid your solitudes 

Near roarinoj torrents or in trackless woods : 

At evening, like a spectre pale and dim, 

Stealing among the shadows dark and grim 

Of some exalted peak, or erring now 

Through the cold moonlight on the glacier's In ow. 

Nature ! — mother Nature ! — 'tis to be 
More than thrice blessed thus to worship thee ! 
Could I into thy lap pour all my years ! 
That certainty would soothe all future fears ! 
Ope then thine arms ! let me not call in vain, 
And take me faithful to thy heart again. 
Receive me with thine aspect grand yet calm ; 
Much need have I of thy restoring balm 
To my world-blighted powers, or how essay 
To weave the thread of this fantastic lay — 
This mystic floweret culled upon the height 
From whence the eagle spreads his wings for flight. 
Combine, Nature, with true Poesy, 
That not in vain my arduous task may be — 
That to my listeners I may show how Faith 
And holy Love can conquer even Death. 



Ill; 



HIS CELL IX. THE VALLEY OF LUZ. 



9 



I. 



None knew the dwellfer on that rugged ^tee]). 
Yet all regarded hmi with fear. 

Hi^ dark expressive eyes 
Shone w^ith a melancholy light, 
Like those fair golden stars, 
Distant and wonderful, 
VVhich rouse our speculation as Ave gaze — 
. They were like those bright worlds 
Men seek in vain to fethom, 
And yet their lustre pleased, 
For, though their rays w^ere mystery, 
Tliere was a meaning in them felt by all. 

Arching those soul-lit orbs 
Arose his pale and intellectual brow. 
Wide, high, majestical, and ploughed 

With lines of ponderous thought, 

Or deep and untold grief. 

So looks the mighty portal 

Of some time-hoary edifice, 
More deeply beautiful by ruin made. 

Upon whose massive moss-grown front 
We seek the history of bygone days. 



P 



10 THE HERMIT OF 

Each feature of his face 
Most eloquently spake 
To all who know to read the human heart ; 
But unto those dull souls 
Who look not farther than the surface, 

Nor care to sound the depths, — 
To them the Hermit stood alone, 
Mysteriously apart 
From every other of his mortal race. 

His dark beard low depended, like his locks, 
With here and there a thread of silvery white 
To prove that time had joined hands Avith sorrow — 

This only, and no more. 
Tall was his stature as erect he stood 
At morn upon some lofty pinnacle 

Hard by his lonely cell. 
And seemed a spirit for a better world 
Invoking pardon on this harmful one. 
Neglect is but a sloven, not a man, 

And in him showed not ever. 

His garb was neat but plain, 
In colour stern, close fitting to each limb ; 

Coarse sandals clothed his feet. 
Simple his habits as his neighbours poor, 

Who gazed with reverence on him 

From the fair vale beneath. 

Hast thou e'er wandered on the sea-washed shore, 



THE PYRENEES. 11 

Mid broken rocks and caves, 
In classic Italy? 
(While listening to the music of the waters, 
And meditating 'mid the ruins 
Strewn everywhere around) 
Perchance thine eye hath lighted on a column. 
Standing alone; no object of its kind 

* Afar or near. 
How fair it looks, so desolately left 
Upon the shore ! 
Unscathed its marble pride. 
Save in its whiteness which the sun 
And time have softened to a rosy hue. 
On high it rears its sculptured, lordly head. 
A perishable thing although it be, 
Around it clings the glory of its race 
To make men marvel thai it should be there. 

So stood the Hermit of the vale of Luz, 

At morning seen upon the mountain height. 

Struck by the majesty of form and look, 

The traveller paused, and, wondering, gazed upon 

him; 
But to the questions " Who and what he was ?" 
" Why lived he life of barren solitude ?" 

Answer could none. 
They loved their Hermit, said the simple swains. 
Supplied with care his humble wants. 

But knew no more. 



12 THE HERMIT OF 

They dared not question him themselves ; 
Enoiigli indeed that lie had deigned to choose 
Their valley for his home 
And shroud them with his blessing. 
He was a mystic spirit 
That sometimes came and sometimes went, 
Whither, they could not say. 
For days and weeks together 
They missed his godlike figure from the hill 
And prayed for his return. 
When he once more appeared 
Their hearts felt gladness at the sight, 
And shone the sun yet warmer on their valley. 

Strange are the tales they of the Hermit tell 

To the rapt, listening stranger. 
At evening seated by the peasant's hearth 

On the dark mountain side. 

God shield him in his need! 
He was a holy, self-denying man. 

His way of life well proved ; 

But what he once had been 

None dare to risk surmise : 
Had he been guilty of the deepest crimes 

The world's black records own 
All must be pardon' d, thought they, long ago. 
Years had he lived within yon ancient tower 
That crowns the lofty eminence 



THE PYRENEES. 13 

At the east end of Luz's smiling vale ; 

And when ho first appeared 

They could but ill remember — 

Could fix no certain date — 
He always had been there, they thought, — 
At least as far adown the slopes of Time 

As their own days extended. 

All was deep mystery concerning him ! 
If of another world, as some believed, 
He was no evil genius, sure they felt. 

For since he hither came 

They had no cause to grieve ; 

All prospered wondrously ! 
Their harvests were abundant, pastures fine, 

And flocks and herds increasing. 
Year after year in greater number strangers 

Poured their vast riches in, 

And generous Plenty came 
To drive lean Poverty in shame away 

Unto less favoured scenes. 

Yes, they all loved their father Hermit well, 

And he for them felt love, 
Or wherefore choose their valley and abide 

In the grey, ancient tower? 
He ne'er would leave them till the mystic hour 
That saw his mission to the earth fulfilled, 

3 



14 THE HERMIT OF 

And then perchance to then- upturned eyes 
His spirit-form would reassume its shape, 
And wing its flight upon the rushing wind 
To paradise and God ! 

Spirit or man, his nature was most strange. 
The food up carried to his lonely cell 
Accepted was, or with a gracious smile, 

Or a few gentle words 
That fell harmonious on the bearer's ear, 
Sometimes did he refuse and close his door, 

Announcing near departure; 

But there 'twas ever left 
Till eagles, or the prowling hungry wolf 

Consumed the proff'ered fare. 
Hunters adventurous on the Izard's track, 
That climb the icy peak at early dawn, 
Or brave the dangers of the glacier's snows, 
With fear declare to have encountered him 
Gliding majestic o'er the frozen mass. 
Unshaken by the terrors of the way. 

Would they to speak to him have dared ? 

Not even for their lives ! 

Once on a time, they say, 

A bold man raised his voice 

To question rudely why 
He wandered thus upon the virgin snow? 
The Hermit's eye upon him glared 



THE PYRENEES. 15 

So piercing and so stern 

That the rash hunter quailed 

Beneath its awful fire. 

He turned away and fled; 
And, struck with terror, heeding not his steps, 
Fell down a yawning gulf to rise no more ! 

In pleastng contrast, others will relate 
How, when black night descended o'er the world 
Robed in the vapoury mantle of the storm, 
And summoned forth the winds that eager watch, 
Like mischief-laden fiends, to spread alarm 
And dire confusion far and wide — 
When the big echoing thunder sent 
Its mighty notes abroad, and lightnings curled 
Like fiery serpents down the mountain flanks 

With awful glare and crash — 
As from the summit of the peak. 

Beneath the self-same stroke 

Rolled the tall hoary pine, 

The riven granite rock 
Plunging into the boiling torrent deep ! — 
When the poor Traveller, stumbling on his way, 
Faint with his efibrts, and with terror wild, 

Sought the lost track in vain. 

And, yielding to his fate. 

Sank slowly down to die — 

In that nigh fatal hour 



16 THE HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES. 

The Hermit suddenly beside him stood, 
Spoke words of comfort sweet, 

And lending to his aid a stalwart arm. 
Raised the poor drooping wretch 

To lead him from his flinty couch of death, 
And its cold shroud of snow, 

Back unto life, his children, and his home ! 

Did they not bless him for such acts as these ? 
Ay, fervently ! and when at evening shone 
His lamp of watchfulness — perhaps of prayer- 

From the grey time-worn tower, 

Upward their eyes they turned 

To the pale gleaming star. 
And then, above it, to the ethereal vault, 
As if to marvel which of those that burned 
Amid the countless thousands bright and fair 

Had thus so near them come ! 



M 



3* 



19 



II. 



Sweet vale of Luz, 
Fairesf among so many passing fair ! 
When first I saw thee, by thy glowing charms 

My heart was won ; 
And now my memories wander back to thee, 
Like care-worn pilgrims of the olden time 
Laden with offerings to their favourite shrine. 
I'll raise thy much loved picture from the dust 
Long years have strewn upon it, and once more 
Thy beauty show in its own wooing form. 

Who can forget thee, 

Fair smiling valley ? 
Watched by thy mountain brothers, whose huge 

arms 
Close linked, protect thee with a jealous care : 
So slept the virgin in the warrior camp 
In the old time of strife and mail-clad men : 
So 'mid the ocean's stormy billows hides 
Some golden isle, a speck of paradise. 
Luz ! thou art girt by giants : their proud crests, 
Towering aloft, the stranger spies afar. 



20 THE HERMIT OP 

And marvels that a thing so fair as thou 
Could nestle in such bosoms. 

Yet paint we beauty in the arms of Mars ; 

And Vulcan's fingers toy with Venus' locks — 

Yea, Ugliness itself will woo and win 
If but the power of soul be there 
To arm the tongue with eloquence. 

Hail to thee, Luz ! As through the hollow gorge 
Of Pierrejitte we approach, hoAV sink our hearts 

Within us at the sight ! 
On either side, a thousand dizzy feet, 
Huge walls arise and form a mighty porch 
To greater terrors as our steps advance. 
So dark the chasm, so grim, so menacing — 
Earthquake, who made it, must lie sleeping there ! 
In such a doorway might Death's Angel stand 

With outstretched dusky wings. 
To sweep all bold adventuring mortals down ! 
In such a doorway (did it lead to hell 
And not the smiling heaven that lies beyond) 

Might the grim beldam, Sin, 

Sit with her bestial train 

In conflict horrible. 

But onward now we toil, 
And turn and wind, 
And wind and turn 



THE PYRENEES. 21 

Upward and upward still. 
Above our heads stupendous mountains meet 

In tlie embrace of Titans, 

Casting deep shadows down — 

Now they retire a space 
And through the momentary 'gap 
A cheering beam from heaven descends. 
- Thus to the mind of Man, 
Through Error's clouds that gather round his steps. 

Will Truth and Eaith appear, 
And fill his being with a blessed light ! 
Could he be satisfied to rest him there, 
All would be well — but, no ! the tortuous path 

Still tempts him, and the cloud 

Again surrounds his way. 

On ! on ! Where tread we now ? 

Where once the Eagle scaled 
With wide expanded wings the towering cliff, 
And taught her eaglets from their eyrie first 
To trust the void and gaze into the sun. 
Man hath fought Nature in her wildest haunt 

And conquered here ; 
Not for one footing but for many feet 

Support he finds ; 
And where the vast abyss profoundest yawns 
He spans it in mid air. 
One light and graceful arch, 



22 THE HERMIT OF 

And we look Danger in the face and smile, 

As she, abashed, steals through the deep'ning gloom 

In the fierce cataract that boils beneath. 

E'en thus strong Will 
Can force a passage through the rocks of flint 

Adversity uprears. 
Despair may like a frightful chasm gape, 
But resolution throws the bridge across. 

And now, sweet Luz, thy charms salute our gaze, 
And the past terrors are forgotten, all. 
lovely vale ! who would not brave e'en more 
To be rewarded with a smile from thee. 

And hang upon thy bosom fair ? 
Fragrant and fresh, thy breath is e'er the same, 
When first thou wakest up at dewy morn 
To the warm kisses of the amorous sun. 
Or veil'st thyself at eve to rest in peace. 
Through thy pure veins abundantly 
Rich streams of life and health 
Pursue their playful course — 
And the green flowery meads, 
The waving sprightly trees, 
Thy flocks, thy herds, thy people — 
All, all alike rejoice 
That thou art theirs, and they are thine ! 

lovely, happy vale !• 
And happy ye that call yourselves her sons ! 



THE PYRENEES. 23 

'T is Summer, and the day 
Is hastening to its close. 
From the great western ridge 
The shadows softly steal 
Down to the cheerful vale, 
Like the first shades of grief 
On youthful Innocence. 
- Unreached, the old grey Tower 
Exalted on its rugged eminence. 

Clothed in full radiance yet, 
Looks boldly o'er the scene 
In the calm pride of age. 

He, too, is there — the Hermit, the lone man 
Mysterious ! 
See where he stands upon the threshold 

Of the low gothic door, 
Down gazing with those star-like eyes 

Into the depth below ; 
And now he raises them to heaven. 
Now sadly turns them to his narrow cell. 
While on his countenance the thoughts within 
Work fitful change — 
Now pale, now red. 
And pale again. 
See ! his lips move,, and thus the inward tumult 
Finds vent in words : — 



24 THE HERMIT OF 

" So dies another day 

After short cheerful life ; 
And in the aspect of yon western heaven 
I read the coming glories of to-morrow. 
How many times have I thus seen the light 
Die and give promise of as fair a dawn ! 
Nature can change her aspect with the seasons, 

Now frown or gaily smile, 
Feel warm as love, or cold as yon wild hills 
That in the distance chill me with their ice. 
But I who live and wear this human form 

Must ever be the same. 
Unchanged, unchanging till the hour of doom. 

" How many, gazing on this scene 
Of day's departing glory, in themselves 
Would thus be tempted to exclaim : — 
Far better to be blotted out for aye, 
With every imperfection, than to bear 
Within one's bosom the immortal, spark 
Which never can expire ! 

"A retrospect of days 
Can make the strong man weak, 
Or give the weak one strength : 
Thrice happy he who wandering back, in thought, 
Along the placid stream of well-spent hours 
Sees heaven reflected there ! 



THE PYKENEES. 25 

To him the Present, like yon western sky, 
Glows with the radiant promise of the morrow ! 
His thoughts, like mountain summits, far above 
The storm-racked surface of the world, arise 
To catch the gorgeous sunset's myriad hues. 

Death, like calm night, comes down 
Free from all terrors, cloudless and serene ; 
Faith,-like the moon, a silver radiance throws 
Upon his rest, and his good actions all 

Shin« o'er him like the stars — 

Thus blissfully he sleeps 
To waken with the glorious morrow's dawn ! 

" Our doubts and speculations are as chaff 
Blown in the face of heaven. 
To be returned upon ourselves ! — 
Philosophy ! 
Thy praises have been sounded forth to men, 

By their own tongues, 
In languages of iron and of gold ; 

And, casting back our eyes 
To where the mists of Time are thick'ning most, 
Loom the pale phantoms of thy votaries, 
Sages and rulers in long ages past, 
Whose names shine out upon the night of Time 
With lustre, though subdued, magnificent 
As the great galaxy of heaven ! — 
Philosophy ! 



i 



26 THE HERMIT OF 

It was thy precious lamp, tliey said. 
That lit them hence. 
Pale, feeble light to that which blazes now ! 
Yet in these days — 
These final days — 
A little ere the last great change shall come — 

Men fly from Faith to thee, 
Or shelter error in wild theories, 

False as themselves and barren ! 
Philosophy was dead, or should have died. 
With the old era in the new-made Man — 

What need for her and Him ? 
The moon for darkness and the sun for day 
Shine both at once, the weaker light 
Must pale into eclipse. 

man ! vain man ! vain world ! vain empty 
things 

Born of her labouring womb, 
Confusion is your name, and ye shall be 
Confounded in the end, and scattered all ! 

" Why did I leave thee, world, and hither come 

An outcast and a wanderer ? 
Because I loved thee and found no return ; 
Because I trusted thee and found thee false ; 
Because I dreamt of freedom and found chains 

1 would not drag, and call their clanking music — 
Because I saw, amid thy storms and wrecks, 






THE PYRENEES. 27 

A mighty Trutli wliicli men essayed to teach, 
But only darkened with their cavils, 
Surmises, wild imaginings; 
Heart-coldness all, and narrowness of mind. 
I saw with mine own eyes, 
Halo'd with light celestial. 
That open way which others would allow 
But took not, and I raised my voice 
To speak what I believed. — 
Then persecution came. 
My crime, the crime of all 
Who dare to utter what the heart can feel 

'Mid the assenting crowd 
That fear to own the truth lest lip of scorn 
Against them curl, or the sharp stinging lash 

Of ridicule assail their fame. 
Thou tyrant. Fame ! that in the breast of man 
Canst stifle Conscience and the voice of Truth — 
Of Truth that cheers him through the light of 
Faith !— 

I would not bear this stain, and fled. . 

" Ye mountains and ye valleys ! now for years 

My refuge and my home, 
That peace which dwells not in the world I 
sought 

And found in your wild bosoms — 
Through the elastic air my spirit soars 



28 THE HERMIT OF 

With a new life from ye to liail its God ! 
blessed solitudes ! delightful haunts 

For the heart- weary wanderer, 
The worn and sick of soul ! 
Do I regret thee now, thou outer world ? — 
The prison-house wherein my spirit pined 
Like the poor captive in his narrow cell — 

Here I least am free — I breathe ! 

" Yet was there one alone, e'en there, 
With whom I dreamt of lil^rty. 
And love, and happiness — 
Vain dream ! 
Her heart, that I had deemed so rich, contained 

Mere dross ! 
It would not stand the test true gold will bear, 
But softened and grew cold 
With but a show of trial. 
Ida ! hadst thou listened to my voice 
At the last moment, what might now have been 

Thy portion ! In thine eyes 
Seemed mirror' d heaven, yet they could not see 
What mine perceived, and their dark lashes fell 

To rise on me no more ! . . . 
Pale Rose ! thou droop 'st upon the desert's edge, 
Striving to bloom amid thy beauty's wreck ; — 
Oh, when the flood from this wide mortal sea 
Shall set in all ita force on that far shore. 



THE PYRENEES. 29 

May I be there to gather up some leaves 

Its waters shall have wafted ! . . . . 



" Slow sinks the sun beneath the western range ! 
Like to some mighty sovereign of the earth 
Who feels his splendours hastening to their close, 
Yet to the last would make his subjects feel 
He wa§ their Emperor, and King, and Lord, — 
Though fading fast still keeps his royal state. 
And 'mid its lustre stalks away from sight, 
The memory of his exit leaving long 
Its hues upon admiring multitudes. 

" I must begone this night ! 
Farewell, thou peaceful vale ! thou happy cell ! 

Farewell, perhaps for ever ! 
If I return I'll love thee as of yore ; 
If not, my memory and my spirit shall 
Yet hang about thine ancient ruined walls. 
And men shall point to thee, and call thee mine." 

Night steals into the valley, and its shades 
Ascend each mountain to the highest peak. 
Then leap the void to summon forth the stars — 
Obedient they appear ; and, last of all. 
The silver-crowned queen withdraws her veil 
To look with envy on the scene below, 
So calm in its repose. 

4* 



30 THE HERMIT OF 

Wakes there not one witliin yon lowly liuts 
Whose thoughts display pale images of sin ? 
No ; all are wrapped in sleep, the sleep of peace 
And calm content that feareth not the dawn. 

A beam falls on the Tower, 
Streams through a loophole in its time-worn flank, 

And shows a hard low couch, 

A table and a stool ; 
Upon the table rests an open book. 
And blazon'd on the thickly worded page 

Doth Revelation shine ! 
But he who wanders through the long still night. 
And reads those wondrous words — where is he 
now? 

His steps are in the valley. — No one hears, 
For like a spirit from another world 
He wanders through the silence of the night. 
And now the entrance of the pass he gains, 
But pauses ere he seeks its midnight depths, 
To cast, perchance, a last regretful look 
Up to his dwelling on the moonlit rock — 

His home for many years. 
While thus he stands and breathes a last farewell. 

An echoing voice resounds 

Through the still gorge beyond, 

Chanting a cheerful lay, 

And a tall figure soon 









1 



THE PYRENEES. 31 

Comes gaily up the path : 
'Tis Pierre, the hunter. Not a better man 

Draws breath in all Bigorre. 
He sees the Hermit as he stands display 'd 
In the cold moonlight, and at once his song 
Ceases in mid career. — 
He lowly bends and blessing asks 
Of him -he meets, which freely is bestow M 
In solemn silence, and they part 
Each on his several way. 

Few konw the Hermit of the vale of Luz, 
But Pierre well knows him — hath conversed with 
him 

And seen him in his cell. 
Why favoured thus and how that favour won 

The following tale shall tell. 



THE STOKY 



fSl »141=S3i3iril» 



35 



III. 



Thy valley, Campan, oft hath been the theme 
Of thin§ own native Poets' glowing lays : 
Romance in thee hath found a happy site 
Whereon to build her structures light and fair ; 
If I, too, place thy name upon my page, 
'Tis to recall the many joyous hours 
'T was once my lot to while away in thee. 

Nor first nor last art thou 

Amid thy sister vales 
That cluster round thee in profusion rich — 
Thy beauty hath a quiet tone, 

And takes us not by storm 

At the first careless glance, 
But steals upon us as we follow up 

Thy varied course and know thee more. 

So in this changeful world, 
Amid the loveliness that meets our gaze, 

Some silent Beauty moves, 

Scarce noticed at the first. 
But, as we wander through the dazzling groups, 
Her grace and gentleness attract our eye : 



36 THE HERMIT OF 

Then by degrees, as we peruse her face, 
She gains upon us with her softer charms 
And steals into our hearts. 

Near where Sainte Marie from her ancient tower 
Uprears the Cross which doth redeem mankind, 
And hath assembled round her sacred fane 
A few stanch children of the quiet vale — 
Above the rest, upon a grassy slope, 

Pierre's humble cottage stands. 
A hundred years have passed and left unchangec 
Its roof of slate, its walls of uncut stone, 
Its lowly porch, and garden strip, and field 
Where grows the red-eared corn, the peasant's prop 

His fuel, bed, and food. 
Lord of the small domain his grandsire tilled, 
With honest pride he looks upon his own. 
And feels that freedom independence gives. 

Best boon from heaven to man ! 

Liberty ! thy name 
Is holy in the mouths of those 
Who truly breathe thine air — who gaze around 
And mark the dread oppressor's hated track 
Amid the sighs and tears 
Of nobler natures than his own. 
How many boast of thee who know thee not ! 
Rear altars to thee — heap upon thy name 



1 



THE PYRENEES. 37 

Their mockery of praise ; their savage deeds, 

Which shock the world and heaven, 
Daring to justify by thee ! 

shameless falFn are they 

That can pervert thee thus, 
And dip thy white robe in a sea of blood ! 

Degenerate France ! 
This act was thine : and to the end of time 
It shall cling round thee like the poisoned garment 
That robbed great Hercules of strength and life ! 

In contrast fair 
Shine the long glories of the elder time 

When heroes fought and died 

For Liberty and Home. 
And, later, when the lofty patriot, Tell, 

With all his brethren brave, 
Trampled proud Tyranny for ever down, 
And taught the world what virtuous Freedom was. 

Yes ; to the stalwart, noble mountaineer 

Freedom is life ! He breathes it from his birth 
In the fresh joyous air 
That sweeps his native vales. 

And to his manly limbs a vigour gives 
So wondrous, so enduring. 

Who dare oppress the haughty mountain child ? 

Answer, proud Austria ! whose hands are stained 

With Tyrolean gore, shed in defence 



THE HERMIT OF 



Of home and kindred. And, imperious Czar, 
Whose barbarous hordes, like hungry wolves, have 
sought 

The life-blood of Circassia — 
Hast thou succeeded in thy dark designs. 
And forced thy yoke upon her freeborn neck ? 
Vain the attempt ! She mocks thee from her hills 
And rolls her rocks upon the wretched slaves 

Who do thy hateful bidding ! 



^ 



A hardy son of mountain soil was Pierre ; 
The hero of his vale for many acts 

Of unrecorded might. 
And daring, that would put to shame 
Those feats which in the world obtain 

Both fame and high reward. 
Comely in feature, and in stature tall, 
Active as Izard, strong as wolf or bear, 
Few could compete with him, and none excel 
In those time-honoured trials of manly strength 
Which oft at eve upon the verdant sod 

Assembled Youth and Age. 
And when the Gfaloubee, with thrilling note. 
And deep bass Ta7nbourin, aroused the vale 

Upon some festive morn. 
First in the field was Pierre, in gay attire. 
To lead the dance, and win from her he loved. 
Sweet Katinosse, the Belle of Campan fair, 

A smile of fond return. 



THE PYRENEES. 39 

Where heaven the precious gift of strength 

bestows, 
Its far-seeing wisdom adds thereto a soul 
Of lofty, generous nature, that such gift 
May nothing lose, but all its value prove. 

So with our hero, Pierre. 
Though envied all his agile, iron frame, 
With pxide and joy they owned him for a friend. 
And praised his daring and his matchless skill 
In the chase perilous or festive sports. 
More than himself they felt and owned his worth. 
And yielded to his voice in all dispute 
Without dissenting word. 
Full oft would some aspiring youth 
Up to Pierre's cottage take his way, 
And learn a lesson from his exploits, told 

With frank good-humoured warmth. 
In many hearts his graphic words have lit 
A fiery ardour for the dangerous life 
'T was his delight to lead ; 
And many a simple swain, 
From his instruction and example. 
Won for himself the hunter's dear-bought fame. 

Thou monster of creation, grisly, huge, 
That mankind flee with hatred and with fear — 
Bear of the Pyrenees ! for cruelty 
Surpassing all thy kind — 



40 THE HERMIT OF 

Wliat havoc made lie in tliy horrid ranks, 

That, ere his time, spread death and terror round, 

A thousand tongues can tell. 
Oft from the lonely valley, far remote, 

Uprose the cry of woe : 
Sometimes for cattle, fall'n an easy prey. 
Sometimes, alas, for human victims too. 
''The Bear! The Bear!" and Pierre is on the 

track. 
Perchance attended by a chosen few 
Hardy and brave, but oftener still alone. 
Nor gives he ground until the foe is slain. 

What tales are told within his native vale 
Of desperate daring, such as ears of men 

Scarce heard before ! 
How he would crouch inside the fatal cave. 
Whose rocky floor was paved with mangled bones 

That told a dismal tale. 
And there with knife or gun (such weapons 

frail !) 
Await the night and grisly enemy. 

He hears him come at length — 
One shot, one deadly stab, and soon he falls. 
Gasping his life away with savage growls. 
And tearing at the ground with vengeful claws 
In impotence of rage, whilst calmly stands 
His conqueror. 



THE PYRENEES. 41 

Hail ! beauteous efforts of creation's skill, 

Izard and Bouquetin called, clean limbed and light ! 

Harmless and gentle as the timid hind, 

Ye fly the face of man 

To climb the highest peak 

Of Alp or Pyrenee. 

How wondrous to behold 
At early dawn — the season of alarm 

To all your graceful kind, 
For then the hunter notes the doubtful track 
Of feet that scarce leave impress in the snow — 

How wondrous to behold 

Your headlong, bounding course. 

Knowing not pause or stop. 

O'er the blue chasmed ice, 

Or broken, jagged rocks. 
Or where the precipice, with sudden dip, 

Looks down a thousand feet ! 
Descent thus terrible affrights you not ; 
Death is behind, life hangs upon your speed ! 
Down, down ye plunge amid the rattling crags, 
Where foot of man would vainly seek a hold. 

Soon far beyond his reach I 

At early morn, upon some peak remote, 
Whose shield of ice reflects in roseate hues 

The rising orb of day. 
How fair to view those light and graceful forms 



42 THE HERMIT OF 

In bold relief stand forth against the sky ! 
With outstretched necks they snuff the passing 
breeze, 
To danger e'er awake ; 
And should it lurk afar, and they detect 
The well-known savour, vain the hunter's toil I 
They vanish as a thought 
Of beauty we neglect to seize. 
Yet often have I seen, 
Despite instinctive caution and quick fear. 
The murderous rifle-ball o'ertake the herd 

And lay its victim low. 
Poor timid thing ! each deep convulsive throb 
Seemed a reproach to Man that he must fain 
Destroy a life so sinless and so free. 
E'en here triumphant love asserts his sway ! 
Lo ! while one victim bleeds the loving mate 
Checks her wild flight, wherein her safety lay. 
To mourn his loss, until another ball 

Mingles her ebbing life with his. 
Great lesson for humanity ! 
If brutes can feel devotion such as this. 
What should not Man ! whose Godlike form and ' 

sense 
Place him so far above them. Yet his hand 
Too oft, alas ! divides the holy cord 
Whereon are strung Affection's precious pearh 
But to our hero, lion-hearted Pierre, 



THE PYRENEES. 4o 

AVhose exploits are our theme — 
Whose iron nerves, oft put to fearful proof, 
Never such trial or such horror knew 

As one too dreadful day — 
A day deep graven on his memory 
In ^characters as lasting as his life. 

• Winter's stern chilling glance 

Usurps sweet Summer's smile, 
That like a timid laughing maid 

Hath flown to hide her face 
Until the beldam w4iom she fears 

Shall pass upon her way. 

In vain the wandering eye 
Surveys the mountain and the misty vale 

For one lone spot of green 

Whereon to find relief 

From the cold dazzling snow : 

All sparkles bright around, 

Dreary, profoundly deep. 

Save where some pointed rock, 
Or precipice stupendous, rears aloft 

Its black and dismal wall, 
Frowning like Crime on gentle Innocence, 
That, robed in white, smiles calmly from beneath. 

'Twas early morn when Pierre his cottage left 
In Campan's snowclad vale. 



44 THE HERMIT OF 

To track a foe whose claw-defended feet 
Had left tlie impress of their power and size 

Both far and near. 
Untiring in exertion, afternoon 
Found the bold hunter distant from his home. 
But still no nearer to the prowling brute 

Whose death he sought. 
In vain with anxious eyes he looks aroun-d — 

Ascends the cold grey rocks, 

Or peers into the chasm — 

Loses the track — recovers it, 

And wanders here and there. 
Impatience and vexation from his lips 

At length find vent in words, 
And, muttering curses on the shaggy game, 
Reluctantly he yields the long pursuit 

And homeward turns his steps. 

T:he chase hath led him to the giant ridge 
That hides sweet Luz, and near to Barege famed. 
Whose roofs, scarce rising 'bove the drifted snow, 
Beside the angry torrent might be seen 
Down in the deep, dark, dismal vale beneath. 
Both cold and bleak the dreary mountain waste 
On every side extends, 
And the sharp northern blast 
Uplifts its distant voice 
To howl hoarse warning in the traveller's ear. 



THE PYRENEES. 45 

But imappalled is Pierre, 

And onward wends his way, 
Dreaming of home and Katinosse, his love, 
Whom he ere long will lead, a happy wife, 

To cheer his lone fireside. 
Sudden he stops upon the yawning brink 
Of a tall precipice, and gazes dow^n 
Into a gprge two thousand feet below — 
There, on the dazzling surface, closely grouped, 
A troop of Izards seek their scanty food 
^ Beneath the freezing snow. 

The hunter's bold heart leaps 

Within him at the sight ! 
And disappointment and his previous toil 

Are soon forgotten, both. 
His gun is primed, and down upon the ground 
He drops, that thus he may observe unseen, 
And measure with his eye the space that lies 

Betwixt him and the game. 

His brief inspection o'er, and settled how 

The quarry he'll attain. 
He seeks to rise ; but horror ! in his haste 
He took no heed of where he laid him down — 
Perceived not ice beneath the slender crust 
Of fresh faU'n snow that on a slight incline 

Attains the sudden brink 

Of the huge precipice — 



46 THE HERMIT OF 

And wlien he strives his feet once more to gain 
Onward lie slowly slides ! 

A dreadful truth hath flasht before his eyes- 
He's lost I for ever lost ! 

Wildly with starting eyes he glares around ! 
The gun slips from his grasp, 
Glides on a space — is gone ! 

He spreads his arms— with eager nails essays 

To dig into the surface — all in vain ! 

They clutch but yielding snow ! 
They glance from the ice ! 
His feet fail to hold ! 
Onward he swiftly glides ! 

Then from his lips a ringing, maddening yell 

Breaks the stern solitude. . . The brink is past 

Into the dreadful yawning gulf 

Headlong, alas ! he falls, 

Over and over turns 
Until both sense and breath have fled ! — 

Oh wretched, hapless Pierre, 

A fearful fate is thine ! 

Lo ! half way down the rugged precipice 
A stunted oaken bush. 
With others, from a narrow ledge 
Puts forth its strong and matted boughs : — 



! I 



THE PYRENEES. 47 

0, wondrous to relate ! 

The hunter's crimson sash 
And vest entangle with the branches, and 
His death-fall is arrested suddenly. 

Poor Pierre ! what thoughts are thine 
When breathing and perception both return 
- Roused by the fearful shock ! 
At first his awe-struck eyes 
Can nothing see around — 
Can nothing comprehend. 
Pale horror with a vacant stare 
Possesses them ; and then by slow degrees 
The fact dawns on his mind 
(A cheering blessed sun 
Thawing the ice of fear) 
That he yet lives, may yet be saved ! 
But how ? kind Heaven ! how ? 
For midway down he hangs — 
Above him rises the appalling height ! 
Deep, deep beneath him yawns the white 
abyss ! 
Around no hold for mortal foot ! 
And one unguarded motion 
Might break the frail support, 
And Death in its cold shroud 
^ Receive his mangled limbs. 



48 THE HERMIT OF 

Oh hoiTible ! too horrible is this ! 

And still more dreadful to his mind the thought 

That thus he may hang on 

For hours 'twixt life and death ! 
Or die by inches, cold and hunger both 
Assailing him. — Yes, better far is death 
In one dread plunge than agony prolonged 

To tortures such as these. 

The criminal, condemned, 
May for the final moment string his nerves 

To meet his awful fate ; 

But comes unsought reprieve. 
Extending life, not saving it at last. 
False hopes of manhood rob him, and he dies 
Shrieking for mercy when the knell is rung. 

Around the hunter throws 

His anxious, starting eyes. 

To learn the nature true 

Of his position dire — 
Too soon he sees ! too well he understands ! 
The hope of life that blazed so lately o'er him, 

Great as the sun itself, 

Now dwindles to a star, 

Feeble and waning dim. 

A sob, a groan of woe 

Bursts from his pale blue lips. 



THE PYRENEES. . 49 

And from his brow the sweat by anguish drawn 
Falls drop by drop into the cold white gulf 
That mocks his torture with its aspect calm ! 

He did not fear to die. — 
How oft, how freely had he risked his life 

In battle short and fierce, 
- With the grim angry bear ! 

Had heard his savage growls 

Unmoved, when others quailed. 
And fled the horrors of that dire embrace 

From limbs of giant might ! 
Such terrors filled his heart with eager joy. 
And would again — Oh ! give him but the chance 
Of such a glorious combat ! . . . But to hang 

Thus helpless in his misery. 
And gaze upon the spectre-form of Death 
Waiting below, is horror such as thought 
Can scarce conceive — imagination paint ! 

He shouts, he shrieks aloud ! 

The rocks return the cry, 

The lonely snow-clad rocks, 
In echoes long repeated, and again 

That frightful silence reigns, 
More terrible to bear than all the pangs 
Of conscience to the stricken murderer. 



\ 



50 THE HERMIT OF' 

Again his voice resonnds and dies away 

Unanswered, and unheard 
By mortal ear upon that dreary waste 

Of mountain, ice, and snow. 
Grown hoarse and faint, he ceases soon to shout : 
The cold benumbs his limbs and iron frame, 

And seem to pierce his bones. 

E'en as he looks below 
Strange shapes arise out of the hollow gloom ; 
Black shattered rocks, like legendary fiends. 
In hideous forms seem crowding round their prey. 
He notes them all — he counts them one by one ; — 
How long have they been there ? And, if he fell, 

Would that sharp point he sees 
Run through him like a two-edged sword ? 
Kill him outright ? 'T were merciful ! . . . 



See ! now a fire is burning bright, 
And cheering is the blaze 
From crackling fir-tree logs. 

Ah ! well he knows the humble dwelling — -' 
His 0W71 in Campan's vale ! 
And, seated by the hearth, his Katinosse 
Is sweetly smiling, calling him her Pierre ! 
Great God ! he hears her voice — 
He speaks .... and in the act 

The happy vision fades — Where ? where ? — 
Can he not follow ? — No ! 



II 



THE PYRENEES. 51 

Once more he shrieks to find himself alone 
Thus face to face with death ! 

An hour hath passed. To him an age it seems 

Full of dire agony. 

If hell be like to this, 
And spirits can experience pangs like these, 
. Its torments are indeed 

Most terrible to bear. 

Lo ! now another fear, 

Born of the hideous past. 

Hangs o'er him like a pall. 
In twice the time that he hath suffered thus 
The night will close its shroud around the scene, 

And, image of his fate. 

Envelope him for ever ! 

He prays that he may die ! 

Speedily ! — speedily ! 

Yea, ere the night can come I 

O Desolation ! awful is thy form, 

Whether in nature thou art found, 
Or in the embittered loneliness of man ! 
But when combined, as now, how doubly dire 

Is to poor Pierre thy dreadful aspect ! 
He feels thy presence at his very heart 
As thou sitt'st brooding o'er that fatal gulf! 
Thou, all unknown to him — so light, so gay, 



52 THE HERMIT OF 

So full of life and hope 
But one short hour ago — thy freezmg touch 

Hath driven him raving mad ! 
Upon him, all ye fierce and howling winSs ! 
Rend him to pieces ! Let the hungry wolves 

Feast on his scattered limbs ! 
What careth he ! Despair is now a friend, 

And stirs him into laughter 

At the pale spectre, Death ! 

His brain is burning. Yet another hour, 

A weary hour he hangs — 

Another age of pain 

To his worn mind and frame. 

Sudden above his head 
A rushing sound, as if of wings, is heard. — 
Is it an Angel sent from heaven down 

To comfort and to aid ? 
What means that murmur falling on his ear ? 

And now a voice close at his side ! — 
He turns his dizzy eyes, great Heaven ! they meet i 
A human face ! — a form of living man " 

Suspended in mid air ! 
Sense fails him then ; he sees no more — 
Feels not the rope, securely round him fixed, 
Which drawls him swiftly from his threatened grave 

To slow returning life. 

>K * * * * * 



THE PYRENEES. 53 

Long lay poor Pierre upon a feverish couch 

Tossing 'twixt life and death ; 
Grateful he learned how Heaven indeed had sent 
Its angel to his aid in yon lone man, 
The wandering Hermit of the vale of Luz, 

Who, from a rock hard by, 
Beheld him sink into the dark abyss — 
Beheld the bush arrest him in his fall ; 
With steps which Pity winged had sped to Luz 

(By happy chance not far) 
For aid substantial in the stalwart arms 

Of ready, generous men. 
Himself he led them to the fearful scene, 
And taught them silently and surely then 
To lower their ropes and save their fellow man. 

Led by the Hermit's never-failing care. 
In safety to his home they carried Pierre 

Over the snow-clad pass, 
Tourmallet stern, and through the vale of Grippe, 
And laid him gently on his lonely couch 
Beneath the roof where he was born and bred. 
And when the fever raged, and all around 
Made for then- brother lamentation, came 
Ofttimes the Hermit, skilled to tend and soothe 
His hours of pain, and waken cheering hope. 
She, too, was there — his Katinosse, his own — 
With all a woman's love to hasten back 

6* 



54 



THE HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES. 



Upon his cheek the ruddy glow of health : 
And when it came her hand was clasped in his 
Never to be withdrawn ! 

Could he forget the Hermit ? 
Could she forget the hand that saved her Pierre ? 

All blessings rest with him ! 
All they possess is his who gave to them 
Life, and the life-long bliss of mutual love ! 



li 



i331j 



57 



IV. 



Whither, Hermit ! must we seek thee now ? 
Last seoji descending from thy lonely cell 

In Luz's peaceful vale : 

On mystic mission bent, 
' T is hard to follow where thy footsteps lead, 

For scant repose is thine : 
Yet would I wander with thee to the end 
Of this, perchance, thy latest pilgrimage — 

Hast thou not felt it such ? — 
And, ere thy voice is hushed, revisit all 

The scenes of bygone days ; 
Feel o'er again w^hat I have felt before, 
Through thee and in thee, thou my spirit's tongue 
Speaking from Nature to Eternity, 
Its element and life. Welcome ! bright dreams 
That cheer us on the way. Though comet-like 

Ye rise upon the atmosphere 
[Of the cold world, to vanish soon from view. 
Yet is there glory in your fiery train 
That leaves its golden hue upon the mind, — 
Portent or not to those who mark its flight. 



58 THE HERMIT OF 

How wonderful art thou, 
Subtlest of all tilings, Thought ! 
Of what composed, what nature, who can say 't 
Ethereal, infinite ! 
Spanning both earth and heaven 
With outstretched giant wings ! 
Vv^hether thou brood'st upon the outer deep, 
And mak'st it pregnant, or confin'st thee here 
Within the compass of the world, thou art 
In substance still the same— an unknown spark 
A lidit, a shade, and unto feeble man 

7' 

Subservient yet superior. 
He grasps thine airy form, and "bids it fly. 
Or walk, or swim, or dive into the depths 
Beneath the girdled earth ; or with its aid, 
Seeks in the labyrinth of Science vast, 
And deep Philosophy, when Faith falls short, 
To solve the first great problem of the Soul. 
Offspring of Mind, thy source is in the Hght 
Immortal and eternal of that One 
Whose throne above the universe is Heaven ! 
Could we but keep thee pure as from that Spring 
First issuing, obedient to the Word, 
And not defile thee with our earthly lubts 
And vain unworthy aims, how happy we ! 
Too oft, alas ! perverted and debased, 
The grandeur of thine origin is lost. 



1 



THE PYRENEES. 59 

riiy mission changed,* and where thou shouldst 

support, 
Raise, and adorn mankind, thou art to them 
A minister of ill — an evil blight 
Poisoning where thou shouldst nourish and restore. 
Cursing where thou shouldst bless ! 

Fair Poesy ! — to Thought the golden Spring, 
Whose perfumed waters, if she seek their charm, 
Can purify from every stain of earth — 

Let thy sweet stream pour forth 
The fulness of its beauty once again ! 
Fair Poesy ! there are who dare 
To reckon thee with things long past, 

Unsuited to this Age. — 

Maid of the radiant Morn ! 
Thy fountain is not dry. I looked within 
And saw the blue of heaven reflected still 
Upon its sparkling face. They are but weeds 
The careless time hath cast into the channel ; 
They may obstruct, but cannot choke its way, 
Soon, soon to vanish, as the gushing stream 

Rolls its harmonious course. 

V^ale of Osseau, thy smiles invite once more 
^y wandering footsteps, and I fly to thee 
As to a well-loved friend. 



130 THE HERMIT OF 

Thou first of all clidst^reet my view 
When from the tinted plains I came 
To learn the marvels of the mountain world, 

To me unknown before. 
Upon thy verdant pastures first my soul 
Felt the true joy that beauty can inspire ; 
And now the tribute that my memory owes 
I'd pay to thee in full. 

I'll call thee fairest, 'mid so many fair, 
Save one, my Hermit's home ; 
That first, thou next in loveliness shalt hold 

The place thy merits claim. 
So fresh, so smiling through thy varied length, 
Who enters thee indifferent to thy charms ? 
From teeming plains we come, whose bosoms bare 
Court the full ardour of that southern sun ; 

And grateful are thy woods, 
Their bright green arches high above our heads. 
Extending long and wide, and all the air 
Oppressed with savour from unnumbered shrubs, 
Or modest flowers that fringe the tempting way. 

Here all at once a vista opening shows 

Some peaceful cot secluded in a dell 

Where Daphne might have roamed and Phoebus 

woo'd. 
Or breathed soft music from his tuneful reed:. 



THE PYRENEES. 61 

Where Innocence is born, and passes on 

From youth to age in simple rustic bliss, 

Contented with its quiet little world, 

Knowing no other, seeking nought beyond. 

A little further, and a limpid brook 

Hums in the gladdened ear its welcome lay, 

Now gaily laughs along, now hides away 

In amorous sport beneath the pendent flowers ; 

Or, bolder, leaping from the moss-clothed rock, 

Bursts into glittering spray, and showers around 

Its healthful, cooling dew. 
Anon some lofty peak the prospect crowns, 
Clothed with rich verdure to its highest point, 

Or waving sprightly trees. 
Naught terrible is there to blight the eye, 

Or fill the soul with awe. 
'Tis graceful beauty, all, and silently 

Appealeth to our hearts. 

And now the woods are passed, and other scenes 

New loveliness disclose. 
Here fields of yellow corn, here pastures rich 
In herds and flocks, on either hand extend ; 
Here the neat cottage or the modest farm. 
High seated on the mountain's grassy side. 

Or snugly in the vale ; 
Here the proud chateau from its lofty site, 



1 



Q2 THE HERMIT OF 

Full in the midst, looks down, 

Upon whose ancient walls 
Time hath writ legends of its younger days, 
When court and hall resounded with the clang 
Of arms and armour, and the Ladye fair 
Smiled on her Knight from victory returned. 

noble, joyous vale ! 
Here roamed, great France, thy Henri of Navarre 
Who drew from Nature, in her grandest form, 
The wisdom that distinguished later years. 
How cherished still by every peasant heart 
Is the proud memory of that royal name — 
His people's " conqueror and father !"* — Oft 
They point to Pau, his birthplace, and Osseau 
The nursery of his youth, and with a sigh 

Think on the hero's fate ! 

Vale of Osseau ! not only is thy name 
For beauty known ; deep in thy verdant bosom 
Hide those rich springs which yield, in generous flow, 
Their charmed floods, to nourish and restore. 

Eauxbonnes, Eauxchaudes, ye both are there, 
Pale hollow-eyed Consumption knows you well, 

And grinds her yellow teeth with rage, 
To think how oft from her rapacious jaws 

* « Et fut de ses sujets le vainqueur et le pere." 

La Henkiade, chant i. 



THE PYREXEES. 63 

Her countless victims have by you been torn ; — 
Nor she alone, but all her sister plagues 
In haste from thy too healthful air retire, 
To glut their maws upon the swampy plain. 
Or the devoted city, cramped and foul. 

The sun hath set, hath risen and set ao:ain. 
Since the lone Hermit looked upon the world 
From his own threshold in the vale of Luz ; 
And now at early morn his way he takes 

O'er Osseau's verdant meads, 

Bent on some holy mission. 
He pauses not, but follows up the path, 
Oft trod before, which to Aosta leads. — 
Aosta, sftnple village far retired, 
Where industry and rural worth abide ; 
Hard by Eauxbonnes, down in the gorge below, 
Its scattered cots and ancient church appear : — 
And now he stops before the humble porch 
Of one lone tenement, and knocks. 

A venerable man 
Over whose head some threescore years have passed. 
And marked their passage by the silver threads 
That thickly lace his locks of raven hue. 

Soon at the threshold stands. 
He sees the Hermit, and a flush of joy 

Heightens his care-worn cheek. 
As eagerly he welcomes him within : 



64 THE HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES. 

'* Oh, Father, we have prayed that thou mightst 

come. 
And lo ! our prayers are answered. She is there, 

And longs once more to hear thy voice : 
Come, speak to her, and soothe the few short hours 
Of ebbing life — my Marie 1 — my lost child !" 

" Ha ! say'st thou so ? I feared as much ; 
But be thou calm, if heaven so decrees. 
Her life hath been a stormy one. Bless God 
That He now takes her to Himself in peace." 



So saying they approach 
The inner room where, stretched upon her bed. 

Poor hapless Marie lies : 
She sleeps awhile, and all her previous life 
Passes before her in a feverish dream. 
Sad is the tenour of the tale it tells, 
And stern the lesson which its truth conveys. 



THE STORY 



OF 



MMm, Wi 



1 



■ 



67 



V. 

Not in the gardens of the earth 
Did Beauty first unfold 
- The glories of its presence. 
Its bright ethereal spirit 
Blooms on the boundless plains of Heaven ! 
E'en on the holy Mount, 
The throne of light and life, 
And majesty eternal, infinite — 
Where angels hymn unceasing strains of praise 
On sweet-toned golden harps— 
E'en there it finds it home. 
Thence streaming through the vast expanse of 

Heaven 
It shines upon the gathered hosts of saints, 

Gilding their star-crowned brows, whereon 
The seal of everlasting peace is fixed, 
Faith's high reward; 
Then issues from the sapphire gate 
Through which those prayers ascend 

That true hearts breathe. 
And fills the universe around 

With all those sparkling spheres 



(38 THE HERMIT OF 

That shadow forth a future unto Man, 
And raise his thoughts above the prostrate 
v/orld. 

Inanimate, yet portion of the same 

Primeval loveliness, 

In Nature next 'tis seen 

Of every shape and hue : 
Now it is gentle, wooing in its form ; 
Now, sternly grand, it fills our hearts witli awe ;-^ 
A graceful waving tree ; a modest flower ; 

An image of repose 

In some green quiet dell ; 

A mighty towering rock — 
A cataract that plunges o'er the neck 

Of some huge precipice — 

A mountain cleft in twain ! 
Or in the glorious changing rainbow's arch 

Uniting earth with heaven. 

The bright connecting link 

Made manifest between 
Body and Spirit— World, Eternity ! 

Lastly, in breathing, moving shape, 

Man, it is thine own. 
Beauty in thee is greatness of the soul, 

And sovereignty of Reason ; 
And, joined to these, the outward noble form 






THE PYRENEES. 69 

Erect, and tall, the contour firm 
Of muscle and of limb : 
In likeness of Omnipotence itself, 
Thou walk'st the earth, to conquer and adore. 

In thee, Woman, more refined and pure, 
It blushes like the rose upon thy cheek, 
• And from thy dark sweet eye 

Its lucid rays pour forth 

In soft, voluptuous streams. 
Appear in all thine innocence, 

In all thy virgin truth. 

And, could Perfection dwell 
Upon the earth as in the realms above, 
Thou to contain it wert the vessel meet ! 

Thy form is living loveliness ! 

And round thy polished limbs 
A thousand bashful graces play. 

Thy tresses are a veil 
Beneath whose ample shade young Pleasure hides, 
Joined with sweet Modesty, his fitting mate. 
So looked the Mother of mankind, 

Fresh from her Maker's hands ; 
Her form was of the earth, but in her eyes 
The glories of a brighter region shone ! 

At meek Aosta, in the Yal d'Osseau, 

From tenderest years the graceful Marie grew ; 



70 THE HERMIT OF 

And, like some beauteous plant but scant'ly known, 
Whose every slioot doth with its age disclose 
Some beauty new, so to the watchful eyes 
Of those around the gentle Maid revealed 

New charms each fleeting year. 

Scarce eighteen summers passed, 

And all throughout the vale — 
From high Eauxbonnes, perched in her eaglet's nest, 
Down to its threshold on the G-ave of Pau — 

Confess fair Marie queen 

Unrivalled, unapproached. 

Behold where now she stands 

Beside yon crystal pool, 

Whose tranquil purity. 
Unruffled by the wild, ungentle wind. 
Sleeps like true innocence — herself ! 

Oh, what a native grace 

Beams in that rounded form, 
That perfect moulded nature, unadorned, 

Uncramped by bastard Art ! 

What power is in that eye. 

Whose fires e'en thro' the fringe 
Of silken lashes force their way I 

Yet modesty is there. 

For, lo ! how soon they droop 

And all advance repel. 

Dare you look into them. 



THE PYRENEES. 71 

Her lips, like rosy fruit, bloom on their tree, 
That Passion hungers for with flaming eyes, 
But chaster Love claims as his rightful due — 
Ah ! happy one whom destiny reserves 
To banquet on their sweetness. 

I see thee, Marie, even now, 
Tlirough the thin film that envious Time, 
Consumer of all beauty, draws 
Before thy matchless form : 
I see thee in the fullness of thy bloom. 
The idol of the vale, 
The wondrous rose among the rocks 
Whose perfume fills the air. 
I hear the stranger still pronounce thy name 
With eulogy, and point 
Unto the spot that gave thee birth. 
I hear thy native brethren with delight 

Count thy perfections o'er. 
And marvel 'mong themselves which man of men 
Shall win so sweet a prize. 

Thy mother's breast o'erflows with joy and pride 
To mark such homage as thy beauty wins. 

Her only darling one, 
Sha loves to see thee in thy best attire. 
Simple and picturesque, on festive day. 

Concentrate, like a sun. 



72 THE HERMIT OF 

The beams from every eye around ; 
And wlien to dance some swain allures 
Thy ever willing feet, 
How the applause thy graceful movements wake 
Thrills through her gladdened heart — 
The happiest woman in the valley she ! 

With colder glance thy father looks 

Upon the joyous scene. 

He was a soldier stern, 

Tried on the battle plain, 
Ere back he turned him to his native hills, 

With his young wife and child, 
To till his little field and dwell in peace. 

He knows too well the world. 

Its perils and its snares ; 
And Marie is the jewel of his heart, 
The pride and joy of his declining years ! 
He likes not all this homage, for he knows 

How Flattery's subtle coil 

Winds round a heart so young. 

Alas ! 'tis not without good cause 
This fear reigns in his breast. 
And robs him of all peace. 

Amongst the eager, swelling crowd «» 

Of strangers and of swains 
Who revel in the light 



THE PYRENEES. 73» 

Of Marie's matchless cliarms, 

His quick eye soon perceives 
One of superior presence to the rest, 
Whose manners speak refinement and high blood ; 

From whose too fluent tongue 

Seductive eloquence, 
Clothed in the garb of flattery, 
Pours an unceasing honied stream. 

With a deep, inward pang 

Poor Marie's father sees 
Her eye flash with too bright a fire 

As those soft dangerous words. 
Like false fiends decked in golden liveries, 
Steal through the unbarred portals of her ears 
To desecrate the temple of her mind. 

How earnestly he, in his Marie's cause, 
Pleads to her mother, and with graphic tongue 
Depicts the danger lurking for the child ! — 

Shows how, tho' pure as light, 

And beautiful as pure, 
This adulation ofiered at the shrine 

Of her surpassing charms — 

This fast far-spreading fame — 
May bring its curse upon their happy home. 

Why teach her virgin heart 
To prize the accents of beguiling praise. 
And court temptation in her million forms ? 



• 74 THE HERMIT OF 

The very angels fell, and so may she ! 

Withdraw her then from idle gaping crowds 
That gaze with lustful eyes — 
From that too favored one ! — 

Yea, save her e'er it be too late to save ! 

Thus wisely flow his words ; 

But in the breast where they should rouse alarm 

Befitting to their import, they excite 

High indignation and unruly pride. 

Reproachful and unseemly from her lips 
Her hasty language flows : 
What need to school her thus ? 

She knew her duty well as he knew his, 

And, thank great Providence, could guard her child 
From all these fancied ills 
With or without his aid ! 

Withdraw the girl, forsooth, from public gaze ? 
She gloried in her charms, 
And in their wide-spread fame — 
Ay, felt a pride a parent feels 
In such a boon from heaven 
As Marie was to them ; — 

She prays him lock his fears within his breast 

And never fret her with such shadows more. 

To this rough speech her prudent spouse forbears 
Reply, revolving ever in his mind 



THE PYRENEES. 75 

The only course Ms sense of right approves. 
Meanwhile the fame of Marie's beauty spreads 
Wider each day, and she with childish joy 

Perceives the envied height 
To which it hath upraised her, feeling not 

The peril that attends it. 
So waves the flower upon the glacier's edge 
In fancied safety from impending ruin — 
So thrives the tree upon the torrent's brink, 
Proudly and cheerfully, until it falls 
And finds its foe in what it deemed a friend. 

How oft desire to work out some good end 
Misguides our steps, and hurries on the evil 

That we would most avoid ! 
E'en as the mariner, whose watchful eye 
Perceives some danger, straight consults his chart 
Whereon the tracks are marked, but chooses one 
Which seems to clear it by a shorter course — 
Vain all his caution ; lo ! the rocks appear, 
And wreck him when he deemed the peril past ! 
Thus with poor Marie. In his eager haste 
To save her, as he thinks, her father (deaf 
To all entreaty) suddenly declares 

That she must for a time 

Bid an adieu to home. 
At Pau his brother lives, to whose strict guard 
He will commit his daughter. Against this 



76 THE HERMIT OF 

Her mother clamours loudly, but in vain, 
And Marie drops a tear, but murmurs not. 

The next day she is gone. 
The Val d'Osseau hath lost its sweetest maid— 
The fairest pearl that e'er the mountains 

owned, 
Torn from its setting, now adorns the plain. 

Marie, had thy young heart found 
Within thy native vale some worthy one 

To bless with all its love. 
Much after misery hadst thou been spared ! 
But forth thou wentest in thy pride of beauty- 
Too soon, alas ! that beauty proves thy bane, 
And down thou fallest, never more to rise ! 

Why here repeat the tale 
So often told, so threadbare worn. 
How the seducer, baffled for a time, 
Discovered thee too soon, and won thine ear 
With flattery's tinsel phrase and hollow vows, 
Till all thy scruples, one by one, o'ercome. 
He bears thee off in triumph from thy friends, 

Grief-stricken and dismay' d ! — 
Enough to tell the fatal truth 

That thou, alas ! didst fall ! 
Let Pity cast her veil upon thy guilt ; 
But thy repentance, like the sunset ray. 
Shall leave its tint upon thy fading hours. 



THE PYRENEES. 77 

Two years pass heavily away — 
No news of Marie to Aosta comes. 
The strangers, knowing her in happier times, 
Inquiry make when passing on their way 

Through the bright Val d'Osseau, 
And hear the burden of the saddening tale. 
The peasant points to her once happy home, 
^ And tells how sorrow broke 
Her mother's once proud heart, 
Leaving her father desolate 
To mourn the hour when, in his anxious haste, 
He dared entrust her to another's care. 

Two years pass heavily away. 
Pale Winter's snows are melting fast from view 
In the deep vale and on the mountains' sides. 

Beneath the genial smile of Spring. 
The Hermit issues from his peaceful cell 

To wander forth, as is his wont. 
Upon his unknown way. 
Through Argel^s, a valley wide and fair, 
Well known to fame, he shapes his silent coursse, 
In meditation rapt ; 

And soon he nears its northern bound, 
Where gapes a pass, the solitary route 

Far winding down to ancient Lourdes ; 
When suddenly a woman from a cottage, 
That in its little garden stands hard by. 



78 THE HERMIT OF 

Springs forth to meet him, and with humble prayer 
Entreats to walk within and blessing give 
To a poor stranger sickness hath o'erta'en 

Beneath their modest roof. 
He bows assent and follows where she leads. 
Distress ne'er pleaded unto him in vain. 

In a low chamber, on a pallet mean, 
The suiferer lies, a tall and way-worn girl, 
The perfect contour of whose prostrate form — 
The classic head — the dark and flashing eyes — 
The well cut mouth — proclaim, alas ! the trutli ; — 

'Tis Marie, once the pride. 

The idol of Osseau. 
Still beautiful, but, oh ! how fallen now 
From what she was but two short years before ! 
Grief, like a blight, hath stricken the fair tree 
And scathed it in its bloom — its better life — 

Its dearest hopes — its all ! 
Like the wan spectre of Despair itself 

She hangs 'twixt life and death, 
And loathes the past, but dreads what is t<» 
come. 

With tearful smile the mystic man she hails. 
Whose gracious words fall gently in her ear. 
And pour their balm upon her troubled spirit. 
E'en as she listens, lo ! another day 



THE PYRENEES. 70 

Appears to dawn upon the dreary night 
Of her dejection. Blessed be his voice ! 
All is not gone from her; some light remains 
To cheer the darkened path beyond the -world. 

To him with eager haste 
She tells the story of her woful fall — 

And how she early felt 

The fulness of her loss — 
How soon, when sated with his virgin prey. 
The smooth deceiver in the villain merged ; 
And, when she murmured, bade her hold her peace. 

Or to another sell 

The charms she so much prized ! — 
Where were his vows of lasting, faithful love ? 
Oh, when he spoke these words, how she abhorred 

Her wretched self and him ! 

Gay Paris was the scene 

Of her brief reign of guilt. 
Did she enjoy it whilst it lasted ? — No ! 

The worm gnawed at her heart, 
And she awoke, as from a dream, 
To find herself the hateful thing she was. 
Around her Pleasure, like the ocean, rolled 
Through the vast channels of that gorgeous town. 
And Wealth and Splendour on its surface shone — 

It dashed its glittering spray 

In jewels over her ! 



80 THE HERMIT OF 

With horror she recoiled, 
And shook them oiF at last, and fled ! 
Whither she cared not, could she but escape 
From him who had betrayed her — from the world, 
From the dread frown of an offended God, 
And (would that such could be !) 
From her vile conscience-stricken self ! 

Among the mountains once she had a home — 
A tranquil, happy home. 
Where her first childhood passed. 
She had a father and a mother fond, 
Who both then loved her, and with joyful pride 
Beheld her beauty from the bud expand 
Into the full-blown, perfect flower. 
Sullied and faded, would they own her now ? 

Would they e'en look upon her ? No ! 
To them she never, never can return ! 
But in some desert spot must lay her bones 
Where the cold blast shall howl its dismal dirge 
Over the lost one's grave ! 

Thus the fierce tumult in her troubled soul 
Once more aw^akes ; but soon the Hermit's voice. 
With dulcet tone, to calmness soothes it down, 
And then it sleeps, as doth the placid lake 
Lulled by the soft breath of a summer's eve : 
The stars that gem the glorious dome of heaven 



, THE PYRENEES. 81 

Reflected shine within its bosom deep ; 
E'en so her mind upon its tranquil face 
Reflects the lustre of his heavenly thoughts. 
This good work done, the gracious man departs, 
And toward Osseau with swiftest pace he speeds ; 
There seeks her father in his lonely cot, 
And bids him come, and in God's holy name 
Receive his erring but repentant child. 

Not hard the task to lead him to her arms. 
With unchecked joy he hears the welcome news 

Of her unhoped return ; 
And for her sin, the pains she hath endured 

Are chastisement enough. 
That ere she fell from her once happy state 
Of innocence and beauty w^as, alas ! 
(0 woe ! that such confession should be his I) 

His error — his the blame — 

Had he less hasty been, 
But kept her like a jewel next his heart, 
And not dismissed her to another's care, 

He had not grown into 

The grief-worn w"retch he was ! 

But he was struck with fear 
At the wide homage that her charms obtained, 
And sought to save her from o'erweening pride 

By one stern, timely blow. 

Great Heaven pardon him. 



82 THE HERMIT OF ^ 

If evil sprang from his intended good I-^- 
He sought to rescue, not to lose his child. 

Yet a short while, and Marie once again 
Feels her fond father clasp her to his heart, 
' With words of comfort and forgiveness kind. 

He bids her live to cheer 

The remnant of his days, 

And from her thoughts dismiss 
The hateful memory of the bitter past. 

Alas ! her mother's voice 
Joins not with his to urge this gentle prayer. 
Her voice hath long been hushed, too soon she learns ; 
And for a time the thought that her misdeeds 
Had cut the thread of that dear parent's life 

O'erwhelms her ; but at length, 
Her father's love regained, the Hermit's care, 

Upraise her once again. 
By slow degrees unto her weakened frame 
Some strength returns that barely may suffice 
To take her back into her native vale. 

Scene of far happier days ! 

Her childhood's home ! 
Once more she stands within its humble w^alls ; 
But what a change a few short months have 

wrought — 
Not in its aspect, that is still the same — 

In her own self ! 



THE PYRENEES. 83 

There is her room ; the bed whereon she lay 
And slept the sleep of innocence and peace ; 
There the small crucifix against the wall, 
And, close beneath, the Blessed Virgin's smile. 
There hangs the glass upon whose truthful face 
Her own was mirrored in its. loveliness, 
Its purity ! 

Sh£ dare not look upon it now. 
For it would show in characters too plain 

The havoc sin hath made. 
All is the same as in that happy time 
Too swiftly fled, and every object round 
Conveys reproach until her burdened heart 

Pours forth its anguish at her eyes 
In floods of burning tears. 

Oh, that such tears could wash away 

The past, and all its memories ! 
The mountain stream sweeps o'er its pebbly bed. 
Chafes at its bounds, and from their contact grows 
Sullied awhile, but soon runs pure again ! 
But if life's troubled stream contract a stain, 
Unto the ocean of eternity 
In all its foulness it is hurried on ! 
Our conscience is a book 

Wherein our faults are registered ; 
And angels turn away, 
And veil their faces, whilst the fiends rejoice — 



84 THE HERMIT OF 

With greedy, jealous eyes they watch and wait 
To add a new impeachment to the list. 

Time passes swiftly on : 
The sun shines brightly o'er the Yal d'Osseau; 

Its children's hearts are glad, 
For Plenty smiles upon them in their fields, 
And Peace and Happiness are theirs within. 

But in poor Marie's breast 

Reigns bitter desolation. 
No sun can warm her into joy again — 
No smiles recall the blighted rose of health. 
And playful youth, to those pale features more. 

She flies the festive scenes, 

Where she was once the queen, 
And seeks the lonely wood, the quiet dell. 
Or her still chamber : there she at least may give 

Vent to the hidden agony 
Which will gush forth, consuming as it comes ! 



In vain her father and her pitying friends 

Crowd anxious round her, seeking to dispel 

The fatal cloud that on her spirit rests. 

From the dread Past she cannot draw her eyes 

To lose it in the Present — still 'tis there! 

The woful thought that poisons her young life — 

Yes, still His there! .... 
Oh for a draught of Lethe's cooling wave 

To her parched lips ! — 






i 



THE PYRENEES. 85 

Forgetfiilness ! then death, if it must be ; 

But thought is torment, and she still must think I 

A saddening sight it is 
To watch decay creep o'er this mortal frame, 
E'en when the measure of our years is full : 
. But sadder still to mark 
Its withering, fatal hand, 
On youth and beauty in their pride of bloom. 
The mighty maw of Death 
Is full of this rich food, but still 
Unsated, aye he craves 
For more ; and more are his. 
Poor, hapless Marie ! many years too soon 

He bends his bow at thee. 
And the dread arrow quivers in thy breast. 

The blow is struck ! No healing for such wound ! 
She sinks ! she sinks ! the wretched father sees 

And cannot save his child ! 

Oh, why restore her to him — 

Why stir his heart with joy, 

Only to break it thus ? 
Alas ! the curse is still upon the hour 

In which he sent her forth. 
For now that he would keep her to himself 
To cheer the twilight of his woful life, 

Death snatches her away. 



86 THE HERMIT 0¥ 

A short time back, and day appeared to dawn ; 
But night is lowering thicker than before, 
And he must wander in the dark alone ! 

The generous Hermit from his distant cell 
At intervals appears. To that sad home 
His coming is a cheering beam from heaven, 

Piercing the clouds that intervene 
To hide the brighter glories of the future. 
They hang upon his words that breathe of peace : 
And chiefly she who feels her hour at hand. 
In his mild accents naught of threatened doom, 

No awful images arise — 
No talk of death eternal, or the pains 

Of unconsuming fires. 
He never spoke of death, or taught its fear. 
But raised the'drooping soul from earth to heaven ! 
His eyes had long been opened to a Truth 

Which spurns corruption and the grave: — 
Rapt in the glory of that brighter promise, 
He waits, he hopes, and if, meanwhile, death come, 
'T is like a sleep unvexed by troubled dreams 

Betwixt a dreary day 

And an unfadino; morrow ! — 

happiness supreme, 
'Mid all poor Marie's crushing woes, to hear 
Such godlike accents from the lips of man ! 



THE PYRENEES. 87 

The mystic hour of sleep has come for her — 
The two lone watchers stand beside her couch, 
Gazing upon her as she prostrate lies 
In the still chamber : even as thej watch 

Those once so lustrous eyes 

Now wearily unclose, 
And a gweet smile plays on her pale blue lips, 

That part as if to speak. 

But no Avords issue forth ; 

One deep-drawn sigh escapes, 
And on its airy wings the spirit soars 
From the poor, blighted, earthly tenement 

To meet its God and Judge. 

o 

That night there was a silence in each home, 
And hearts were heavy in the Val d'Osseau. 

The rising moon, full-orbed. 
Through one small casement throws her silver 

beams 
Upon the placid features of the dead, 
And on the grey locks of a lone old man 

Who crouches by the side 

Of her to him so dear I 
His head is bowed upon his heaving breast. 

And to and fro he rocks. 

As his grief sways him ever — 

Or only stops to chase 



88 THE HERMIT OF THE PYRENEES. 

The fly that fain would settle 
Upon that pallid cheek ! 
He weeps not, for his grief 
Is deep and hot within him, 
And sears his tearless eyes. . 
Oh ! it is terrible 
To feel a desolation such as his ! 



1 



1^1111113. 



91 



VI. 



Stranger ! lov'st thou to feel 
The chilling kisses of the Queen of night 't 

There is a glory in her reign, 

Though she look pale and sick 

As Fear or blighted Hope. 
I've watched her shine upon the mighty deep. 
Tipping with silver all its crested waves, 
And thought upon the w^ide, tumultuous world, 
And the dark workings of its secret breast — 

Its plottings, wiles, and mischief. 
I've seen her light upon a broad blue lake, 

Whose waveless waters slept 

As do the minds of those 

Who find in death a friend. 

Rest all their aim on earth, 

No hope in heaven beyond ! — 
I've seen her shine upon the monuments 

Of some old sculptured race, 
And bring their hoary beauty forth to view, 
Till every fretted angle told its tale 

Of the great buried Past. 
So the old warrior, or the storied sage. 



92 THE HERMIT OF 

In the calm moonlight, of his latter days, 

Relates the wonders of the early time, 

Which show still greater through this silvery veil. 

I will not wrong thee, mysterious Night ! 
And draw comparisons with joyous Day ; 
Let each live in itself; the one all smiles 
Like thoughtless youth,— the other sombre, grave. 
As best becomes the elder of the twain. 
Thine age who dares to guess V 
Thou with thy brothers grim. 
Chaos and Space, wast never young, 
x\nd Limit hath no name in thy domain. 
A million unknown spheres might lose their way ^ 
Left they their thrones to wander through thy 
shades. 
One power, Night, can compass thee. — 
One power, Night, can conquer thee— 
He said, " Let there be light !" 
And at His will the new-created ray 
Sprang from thy bosom, then first taught to feel 
Dismay that for a time your reigns should be 
Alternate— henceforth thou must yield him all I 

Yes, dark-browed, ancient Night, though black thy 

frowns. 
And terrible sometimes, thou hast thy charm 
In measured portion with the gorgeous day. 
Sated with lustre from the flaming sun, 



THE PYRENEES. 9o 

How sweet the shelter of thme ebon wing, 

In the soft hip of sleep ! 
How sweet for him, who toils from early dawn 
To wring a pittance out of pampered Wealth, 
Or cold, stern Avarice, to feel thj shades 
Creep o'er him, granting kindly interval 

^rom the long, weary task ! 
How sweet for her who counts each lingering hour 
Of the long day, and dreams of love and bliss, 
To find them both in thee. Sweet unto him, 
Whose soul is in some mystic science rapt. 
Are thy kind, silent hours, and the pale lamp 
That sheds its halo o'er the realms of Thought. 

I will not hate thee, Night, 
Though Crime may hide her in thine ample cloak. 
And stalk abroad to ravage and destroy. 
I w^ill not hate thee, though men stain thy bosom 
With their foul acts and treasons : let them benr 
The hellish stigma ! thou, the looker-on 

And favourer perforce. 

I will not hate thee, Night, but call thee kind 
And generous to men — to me most kind ! 
Beneath the shadow of thy giant wings 
I lay me down to sleep, and visions float 
Before my spirit's ever wakeful eyes 
Of mystic seeming, which, with early dawn. 
Spring into life. Bright forms ! more palpable 
Than may appear from your fantastic dress, 



94 THE HERMIT OF 

Truth hides within you, and my weary heart 
Is soothed into endurance by your smiles. 

gracious, friendly Night ! 
Would we awaken to thy majesty, 
'Tis not within the densely peopled hell 
Men call a city, whence they shock thine ear 
With their mad riot and ungodly deeds, 
But in the peaceful, far-removed plain, 
Or where the mountain pythons of the earth 

Point their proud crests to heaven 1 
'Tis there we know thee in thy regal state 

And comprehend thy power. 
There, too, Queen, that 'mid a blaze of jewels 
On a rich robe, hang'st like the modest opal — 
There, too, we view thee in thy silvery pride 
Of beams that emulate the fiercer sun. 
And the rich clustering stars! — those watchful 

eyes 
Of myriads of bright angels — how they gem 
The raven tresses of the old King Night, 
Adding fresh lustre to his diadem ! 

The world profoundly sleeps 
' After its many toils, 

Wrapped closely in the mantle of the dark — 
If dark indeed you call 
A spectre of midday, 
Clothed in bright silver beams. 



THE PYRENEES. 95 

The giants of Bigorre 

In serried ranks stand forth, 

And cast their mighty shades 

Far o'er the silent plains, 
Like the famed oracles of ancient days 

Searching the clouded fjature. 

Above all other, looms 

Into the moonlit air, 

Bagnieres, thine ice-crowned peak, 

The sovereign of its range, 
Whose sparkling crest for forty leagues around 

Makes its great presence known ! 

What figure moving up those rugged slopes, 
Now wrapped in shadow, now in light displayed, 

Salutes our startled gaze ? — 
What reckless wretch thus lonely in the night 
Seeks doom inevitable ? Mark it well ! 
That form is not of earth ! Its face is pale — 
It glides upon the rocks and glittering ice ! 
No human footstep e'er so swift, so sure ! 
And now it gains the summit where it stands 

And, statue-like, awaits — 

wonderful to see ! 
It is no phantom form — 'tis mortal! — 'tis 
The wanderer of the mountains — the lone man 

Of Luz's distant vale. 
Why comes he there while sleeps the prostrate 
world ? — 



96 THE HERMIT OF 

'' Lo ! from tliis point I overlook the earth. 
And, first of men, shall hail the morning's light — 

To me blest privilege ! 
Thus vroulcl I ever hail it — ever watch 

For the first streak of dawn. 

In bygone ancient days ^^B 

So stood the Prophet on the hill of Faith ^^Bl 

Down gazing through the stormy night around ; 
And, while all slept, or heeded not his voice, 
Proclaimed the terrors of the coming time ! 

Ye, too, profoundly sleep, 

people ! 'neath my feet, 
Unmindful of the morrow, as of yore. 
When will ye learn to wake, and watch, and 
feel 

That which is soon to come — 

Which is e'en now so near 
That it may take you in the lap of sleep ! 

" Thou glorious heavenly arch ! 
I gaze upon thy majesty to-night 
For the last time from this exalted stand. 
The Angel's whisper passed into my ear. 
As I ascended, that my feet no more 
Should leave their impress on the Monarch's crown. 
May all who follow read in thy bright book. 
Lit by yon wondrous stars, what I have read 
So oft before, and may they be prepared | 



THE PYRENEES. 97 

Even as I am now. 
• Be merciful, Heaven ! 

Give them the peace that filleth all my soiil^ 
Which I knew not until I learnt thj ways, 
And clomb the mountain nearer unto Thee !" 

I He ceased to speak, and for a while his head 
j Drooped on his ample chest : 

I He raised it soon, and with his eye of power 
I He pierces the deep shadows of the night. 
I , Long stood he thus ; 

His form defined against the southern sky, 
I ^ Distinct and clear. 

In its proportions rose more vast than nature. 

So Destiny, 
From some huge pinnacle untrod by man, 

Broods o'er the plastic world, 
Hatching fresh change and turmoil while it sleeps 
In false security ! 

Athwart the face of night a change comes on 
Perceptible, though gradual, like the light 
Of truth that steals into the stubborn heart ; 
At first a spark, then rising to a flame 

Triumphant and eternal. 

Pale is the silver moon ; 
More wan, more pale now shows her queenly brow, 
A.S at her heart some bitter grief were gnawing. ' 



98 THE HERMIT OF 

The stars, too, that before 
So thickly spangled all the dome of heaven, 

Wax fainter and retire. 
Like wearied watchers, to refresh their strength 

For lengthened vigils new. 

The Hermit's eyes upon the east are fixed 

With steadfast gaze, as though some cherished hope 

Long buried there, was soon to be revealed ; 

And in that region doth the solemn blue 

Of heaven dissolve into a gentle grey — 

(The tint that in this world some choose to call 

The robe of Piety, which Sin assumes 

When she repents her of her past misdeeds : — 

How many use this seeming saintly cloth. 

Deceiving others and not less themselves !) 

And now a warmer flush, 

So delicately pure 
That with it naught of earth hath rivalry. 

It deepens then in hue, 

Like the fresh summer rose, 
Emblem of innocence and virgin love 
Unstained by contact foul with earthly guile. 

truly happy state ! 
Which many know not, or who, knowing, leave 

Too soon for that which brings 
With wider range of knowledge evil seeds, 
Producing in the end their rotten fruit — 



1 



THE PYRENEES. 99 

In lieu of Peace, Discomfort, Pain, 
Uncertainty, Confusion, Sin, 

And its dread offspring, Death ! 

Yet brighter glows the east ! 
As grim old Night his sable chariot turns, 
And whij)S his steeds into the farthest west — 

Brighter and brighter still ! 

Each moment is a messenger, 
Clothed with new beauty from the sun, 
That rushes forth upon the sleeping world, 
Full of glad tidings of his near approach : 

He comes, he comes, he comes ! 
Up and receive him in your best attire 

ever- varying Nature ! 
Ye fertile plains ! ye high aspiring hills ! 
Give him due honour in return for all 
The beauty and the wealth ye win from him 
In multiplied abundance. Man alone, 
Unmindful and ungrateful, sleeps ! 

Bigorre, thou mountain king ! 
Thy crown of ice w^ill soon be molten gold — 
And thy huge brethren, too, shall take their share 

Of the fast rising splendours 
Long ere the lower world can tear away 
Its misty veil. He comes ! — Hail glorious sun ! — 



100 THE HEEMIT OF 

He rises to thy view, man of heaven ! 

Crowning the Monarch's crown. 
The streams of light are, to thy spirit's glance, 
A pathway forming to the realms of day ! — 

Unequalled, wondrous scene ! 
Can pen of man depict thee ? Can weak words, 
Though fraught with passion of the Poet's soul, 
Imbue the minds of others with the sense 
Of thy o'erwhelming beauty ? Vain the task ! 

Go ye who have the gift 
Of God within ye for the great, the grand — 
Follow the Hermit — stand where he now stands, 
And drink, nay, revel, where he revels now ! 

The sun is risen, and the night hath fled — 
The night beneath whose sable mantle lie 
The sins and secrets of yon drowsy world — 

The sun hath risen high. 
And in his sea of living light 

The mountains bathe their brows. 
And from their flanks unwrap the vapoury shroud 

Which evening winds around them. 
Beyond the utmost bounds of mortal vision 
Thy plains, Bigorre, now lay their beauty bare, 
Smiling and blushing, like sweet maidens coy 
For the first time in loveliness revealed, 
xlmid their beauty doth full many a town 

Arrest the wandering eye ; 



THE PYRENEES. 101 

Til vain it hovers o'er the vast expanse, 

And strains its utmost might ; 
Grey distance mocks its efforts and retires 

Beyond the blue horizon. 

Such wondrous scene as this 
Should wake in dullest brain the holy life 
Of Poe«y — and from the inner depths 
Of coldest hearts call forth both love and praise. 
Lo ! how its power within the Hermit works, 
As down he gazes from his lofty throne, 

The Monarch mountain's crown. 
His eyes dilate, his face all flushed with fire 
From the rapt soul, and thus his words pour forth 

In swift, melodious stream :— 

*' Eternal Fountain of all living light ! 

From heaven Thy glory through yon rising orb 

Revives this thankless earth. 

How wearily she lay 
Beneath the shadow of impending night 

A few short hours ago ! 
And now, how eagerly she drinks thy beams 

At every teeming pore ! 

How wondrous are Thy works ! 

These mountains and yon plains 

That stretch so far aivay — 

Whose beauty fills my spirit 



E'en to o'erflowing — these are Thine I 



10* 



102 THE HERMIT OF 

This air, so fresh and pure, 
That stirs my snow-streaked locks 
And plays upon my cheek 
Buoyant and healthful, doth proclaim 

Thy grace and mercy unto all mankind ! 
This sun, whose early beams 

Now raise the vapours of the night, and spread 

Their light refulgent to the utmost verge 
Of the far blue horizon, 

These all breathe of Thy spirit and Thy powei-. 
Unmeasured, unapproached ! 

" favoured, happy clime ! 
Whose fertile breast the scantiest toil repays 
With tenfold gain. Unlike the barren north, 
Where toil and sweat are oft profusely spent 
To win the meanest pittance from the earth, 

And sometimes that denied. 

Thrice happy, happy clime ! 
For all this bounty which His hand bestows. 
The note of praise should rise at earliest dawn, 
And fill the air with melody divine. 

But ye, alas ! are mute. 
People forgetful of these precious gifts. 

And sleep when ye should wake ! 

" world that I have left, 
And now behold so far beneath my feet. 



THE PYRENEES. 108 

For the last time, perchance, I speak to thee ! — 
Sore hast thou laboured to bring forth thy fruit. 
And sorer still thy travail shall become, 
^luch shall be wasted ; much that seemeth good 
For offering shall rejected be, and cast 
Aside as emptiness, amid the wreck 
- Of matter and of men. 

'' Is the work done, Nations ! which w^as set 
For you to do, each in your own degree ? — 
l>oth Order, eldest born of Heaven, and sent 
With his meek spouse. Obedience, here below 
To reign with Peace and Plenty, hand in hand — 
Doth he abide and hold his sovereign sway. 

As first designed ? Alas ! proud man ! 
Thou hast unstrung the first great harmon}^ ! 
And Discord and Confusion, in its stead. 

Show their vile birth and parentage 

In their yet baser progeny. 

" Thou mighty, gorgeous realm, 
Whose limit northward is the narrow sea 
Crossed by the first great Caesar ! thou art fair 
To look upon, and valorous as fair ; 
But all thy valour and thy beauty are 

As naught, because misused. 
Why conquer others if thou hast not learned 

To rule thyself within ? 



104 THE HERMIT OF 

How vain that outward show, that clash of arms, 
That loud high-soundmg tongue which thunders 
forth 

The fame of thy past deeds — how vain ! 
Hast thou reformed mankind, adventurous France V 
Laid the foundations of an edifice 

Which shall outlive these latter days ? 
Thou hast cast kingdoms down, and thine own kings 
Hast spurned and humbled, to no worthy end. 
Woe unto thee ! Thou hast offended Heaven ! 
Perverting all its laws to thy bad use. 
AVhat next must follow but convulsive throes, 
Succeeding each the other, till ensues 
A wild delirium and eternal death ! 

" I turn me to the north, the south, the east : — 
Empires and kingdoms stretch in long array, 
Tottering and crumbling to their bases, rent 

By their internal strife. 
The passions vile of those that would be great. 
Or, great already, ever thirst for more. 
How loathsome to thy sight, great Heaven ! this 

mass. 
Corrupt, confused, which thou didst destine first 
1^0 be the best, the proudest of thy works, — 

How loathsome, how impure ! 
Yet naught is inaccessible to Thee 
Tn ocean, earth, or sky ; and thou hast said 



THE PYRENEES. 105 

That these thy works are good, and shall be so 
To all eternity, though sullied now : 
Thy Word shall come with awful power ere long ! 
The dregs of earth shall fill the tombs they build, 
iind from one mighty, teeming multitude. 

Thou wilt choose forth Thine Own !" 

He ceased to speak ; 
And, statue-like, upon the pinnacle 
Of the great Monarch, rested still, 
As though he were most loath to quit 
His icy throne. 
'Tis joy to him to triumph o'er the world, 
That world still hushed in slumber at his feet. 
And feel his burning thoughts ascend to heaven ! 
His starry eyes are filled 
With glory from above ; 
They revel in the vast expanse, 

They heed no more the valley ! 

Lo ! the thick mists arise. 
Swathing the mountain round 
AYithin their duskv folds. 
They roll beneath his feet, 
And frown upon the world, 
But ever o'er his head 
The gorgeous mid-day sun 
Shines forth resplendently ! 



106 THE HERMIT OF 

Shine on, thou mighty orb, 
And pour thy living light 
In liquid, golden streams ! 
The Hermit hails thee ! revels in the glow 
Of thy celestial presence ! 
Upon an islet now, 
Amid a milk-white, dazzling sea, 
He stands alone. Such quiet reigns. 
Such gracious and such holy quiet, 
Known only in those wondrous realms above, 

Where the soft ambient air 
Yields to the pressure of angelic wings ! 

The Hermit stands alone ; 
The envious clouds have wrapt him from our sight ! 

Long time the mists hang round the granite King, 
Casting dark scowls upon the vales beneath, 

And the big drops descend ; 

Then through each gorge and glen 

The rude winds wildly sweep, 

And soon the vapoury shroud 

Is scattered by their breath, 

Assuming to the eye 

In the wide span of heaven 

A thousand varied shapes. 
Aerial palaces and pinnacles. 
Huge phantom mountains, glowing in the light, 
Rosy and golden, of the setting sun. 



n 



THE PYRE^:EES. 107 

Again the icy crown 

Of the great monarch gleams 

In all its royal pride ; 

But he who lately stood 

Rejoicing on that height, 
The gentle Hermit, the lone Man of Liiz, 

-He there is seen no more. 
His noble form hath melted into air ; 
No more his footsteps echo on the rocks, 
No more we trace them in the silent paths, 
That wind among the gorges of the mountain. 

Deep silence reigns : 
He hath departed ; whither ? who can tell ? 
His coming and his going, both, are clothed 

In mystery. 
To solve it why essay ? enough to feel 

His life of faith and love 

Obtained its own reward. 



lIisaltoJU0its i0mB anJj Brnwds, 



11 



Ill 



A POET'S JOYS. 



Yes, let me roam in freedom, where 
The mountains raise their heads, 

And breathe the fresh and joyous air 

On lofty summit, wild and bare ; 

Or in the gentle valley — there 
The earth her carpet spreads. 

( )r lead me by the tell-tale brook 
That babbles forth its lay 

Unto the flowers which in it look ; 

Or to a lonely quiet nook. 

With silence and great nature's book 
To while the time away. 

My joys are in vast solitudes 

Far, far removed from men ; 
I love to track the pathless woods. 
Or where the kingly eagle broods 
Above the sparkling mountain floods 
That thunder through the glen. 



112 A poet's joys. 

I love to see the golden sun 

Awake the world from sleep — 
To watch how fast the shadows run, 
How soon bright Day's short life is done. 
Night's solemn reign in state begun 
On the great western deep. 

I love to hear the throats of birds 
Pour forth at peep of morn 

A hymn of praise, without the words, 

Or learned rules of firsts and thirds ; 

The lowing of the distant herds, 
Rich bass, the scores adorn. 

In every spreading tree or flower, 

An image lurks for me; 
I see even in the falling shower 
The Angels weeping for the hour 
When Man succumbed to Evil Power, 

And knew mortality. 

I love to watch the eagle rise 
On wide, expanded wings, 

And look with proud and flashing eyes 

Upon the glories of the skies ; 

Or round high mountain majesties. 
Sweep in gigantic rings. 



A poet's joys. 113 

And when at eve the God of Day 

Reins in his steeds of flame, 
I love to watch him stalk away, 
Still clad in all his bright array, 
Which to the world doth seem to say, 

He goes the king he cam'e ! 

I love to watch the stars appear 

Amid th' ethereal space ; 
A countless host from far and near 
That come to hail their sovereign dear. 
The moon, who then, serenely clear, 

Unveils her pallid face. 

A meteor, like a flash of thought, 

Shoots through the gulf profound, 

With train of fire ; then, lo ! — 't is naught ! 

By this the erring world is taught 

That Vanity, so glittering wrought, 
Is but a sight or sound. 

There's joy in all the wondrous things 

Betwixt the sky and sod ; 
And Music from her million springs 
Sustains this truth the Poet sings. 
Creation is a Harp — its strings 

Touched by the hand of God ! 



11* 



114 



THE MAID OF OCEAN. 



Upon the sands of ocean stood 

A maiden tall and fair ; 
In proud inspired attitude 

Long hours she lingered there. 
The wind toyed with her golden locks 

And stirred her raiment white ; 
She looked the queen of waves and rocks. 

That maiden fair and bright. 

She gazed upon the stormy deep 

Whose angry billows rolled 
E'en to her feet, with foaming sweep, 

To threaten one so bold : 
But unappalled amid the strife 

Of waters stood she there — 
They could not steal the charmed life 

Of one so bright and fair. 



THE MAID OF OCEAN. 115 

'^ Roll on ! rave on, thou stormy sea !" 

Exultingly she cried, 
"" My cradle first was rocked by thee — 
Thou art my joy and pride ! 
Thy wrath is music to mine ear. 

Thy sleep felicity — 
Holl on thy course from year to year. 
Stream of eternity ! 

''Thy passions are not those of men, 

Thou hast no thoughts impure ; 
There is no malice in thee when 

With smiles thou dost allure. 
Both fierce and sudden is thy wrath. 

When in its might displayed ; 
For Crime thou hast no secret path. 

No poison, and no blade. 

" If e'er thy waters owned a stain 

'Twas Man that left it there. 
To vanish soon — no spot of pain 

Thy purity will bear. 
The myriads that have found their rest 

Beneath thine emerald pall 
Sleep sounder than within the breast 

Of earth, or marble wall. 



116 THE MAID OF OCEAN. 

" Roll on ! rave on ! for ever loved, 

For ever glorious sea — 
Mirror whereon God's spirit moved 

In its immensity ! 
Roll on ! rave on a little space, — 

The death of Time is near, 
And that dread Form upon thy face 

Shall once more reappear !" 



n 



117 



I. 

LOVE. 



LoxG hath the voice of song been hushed in me ; 
I scarce know why, for I am much the same— 
And jet, methinks, 'tis not so. Poesy ! 
I love thy numbers, I revere thy name ; 
But in my breast there is a raging flame 
Which burneth ceaselessly both night and day ; 
That fire is Love, unquenchable, supreme, 
And brooks naught else beneath its sovereign sway. 
Yet will I dip me in thy sunny stream, 
Sweet Harmony, that when she wanders near 
My voice from out thy waves may strike her ear. 
And steep her senses in a blissful dream. 
Ha !— see !— she comes !— she lingers near the 
brink, — 

And now she bendeth down to drink I—to drink ! 



118 



II. 
HOPE. 



Fair child of lieaven ! soul-inspiring Hope ! 
Why from my fond embraces hast thou flown ? 
May I not know why thou from me art gone ? 
Why I am left thus desolate to cope 
With the rude world ? Once, when against the slope 
Of the bright heavens I saw thy colours thrown. 
My soaring spirit caught a higher tone ; 
But now^ I feel no more thy mighty prop. 
Thy rainbow hues have faded from my mind. 
And left its troubled waters dark as night ; 
And dismal thoughts rush o'er them, like a wind, 
Blasting all others with a fatal blight ! 
must it thus continue ? Hope, be kind ! 
Disperse these terrors with a ray of light ! 



119 



III. 
HOME. 



How dark and dreary is this winter night ! 

The voices of the winds are loud and shrill 

As they rush madly forth to sport their fill 

Upon the pathless heath. With true delight 

I sit alone, and store my mind, or WTite, 

Or gaze into the cheerful little flame 

That leaps up on the hearth close at my side. 

Oh, why should men so pant, so thirst for fame 

And the vain glories that compose a Name — 

Which, after all, cannot for aye abide ? 

Within the compass of these narrow walls 

Is bliss ; outside, the world doth rage and foam. 

And he who listens to Ambition's calls 

Must wander through the storm without a Home ! 



120 



IV. 
LIFE. 



Our early childhood is the first fan' beam 

Of morning in the East ; and, as we grow, 

The colours deej)en to a fiercer glow, 

And life appears one joyous, golden dream ! 

Our thoughts, like angels, spread their wings and fly, 

Exulting o'er this earthly paradise, 

Which G od hath spread before our Avondering eyes, 

And crowned with star-bespangled sky. 

But, mounted in the chariot of our years, 

Whose motion soon attains a headlong speed, 

We quickly learn by sounds of woe, and tears. 

Those truths to which at first we gave no heed. 

Our tempered thoughts then contemplate the West, 

And, like the sun, we slowly sink to rest. 



1 



121 



V. 

THE AGE OF GOLD. 



What are the treasures of the unfettered mind ? 
The gems of thought it can dispense around ? 
Why, so much dross ! They lie upon the ground 
Unvalued by the bulk of human kind. 
In vain the Poet's mighty spirit soars 
To sing of beauty in the realms above, 
Or stoops to earth and tells a tale of love 
That touched his soul on distant sunny shores : 
Men's thoughts are on the metal from the mine 
Which the}^ can grasp, and with it sway the world ; 
Nor shall they care for that which is divine 
Until the earth is from its centre hurled — 
Then only will their awe-struck eyes behold 
The soul resplendent in its native gold ! 



12 



122 



VI. 
THE PAST. 



The Past is like a place where many tombs 
Stand in the unvexed silence of the night ; 
And Memory is the moon, whose silver light 
Steals in among the death-polluted rooms. 
The ghosts arise, and bathe them in her beams. 
As in a crystal pool. Some cherished form 
Appears again, as lovely and as warm 
As when it lived ; but others draw the shroud 
Over their faces, and avoid the gleams 
Of light, like hateful shadows. Motley crowd I 
'Tis in your power some pleasure still to give, 
Though ye are dead, and never more shall live. 
I've spent long hours among you, and the sun 
Has seen me grieve my spectre-dream was done. 



3 



123 



VII. 
THE PRESENT. 



The Present is the life, the breathing form, 
That comes all joyous, like the rising morn ; 
Or, bathed in tears, dejected and forlorn, 
Doth seem a wreck struck by some mighty storm. 
The countless thousands pour their streams along, 
Through many channels, to their several ends — 
Onward, still onward with a current strong ! 
Strangers to-morrow are the dearest friends. 
The note of War is sounding in the East ; 
Grim Death impatient for his bloody feast ; 
And angel Peace home up to heaven ascends, 
To take her seat upon a thorne of glory — 
Joy unto all, when she once more descends, 
And bloodshed only shall survive in story ! 



124 



VIII. 
THE FUTURE, 



The Future ! 'tis a heaven or a hell : 

An Eden passmg fan- ; a desert waste ; 

A glorious isle amid rough ocean's swell ; 

A dismal rock by roaring surge embraced. 

We know not what it may be, yet our eyes 

Are by a mighty impulse to it drawn, 

And, ere a happy Present fades and dies, 

Our secret thoughts are with the morrow's dawn. 

The glories of the earth, the sea, the skies 

May mingle with our silent reveries ; 

But still 't is there, that one prevading dream, 

The joys, the dangers of forthcoming days ; 

Now tinged with sadness, like the evening beam. 

Now clothed, like noon, in full meridian blaze. 



i 



12(> 

\ 

\ - . 

THE STARS. 



The stars above us ! Are they worlds ? or gleams 
Of mightier, purer, though still veiled things ? 
Are they the seraph choirs, from whose sweet strings 
The golden harmony of Heaven streams ? 
Are they the souls of Saints, who, though earthborn. 
Have thus been glorifiedj thus made to shine 
As lamps unto the world they did adorn — 
Which once denied their mission was divine ? — 
Yet more ! Those stars are God's own words, out- 
spread 
Upon the vast abyss, line after line ! 
First revelation, ere that Blood was shed 
Which raised a Living Glory from the Dead, 
And made Man what he is. Read, gazer, read 
The myriad wonders of yon starry creed ! 



THE ENI), 




12.0 



IX. 

ETERNITY. 



By day, by night, gaze on the troubled deep, 
And then upon the mighty dome above : 
They both are seas, yet neither is asleep. 
One watches with its countless eyes of love ; 
The other chafes, and boils, and leaps, and roars. 
Or bursts in thunder on the rocky shores 
With awful discord. But th' ethereal seji, 
Though vaster far, is ever still the same, 
Unchanged, unchanging — 't is Eternity ! 
God's holy throne ; the sun, His tongue of fianie. 
Speaking in glory, yet in mystery, 
The marvels that compose His wondrous name ! 
The moon that sparkles on the rolling wave 
Displays His mercy and intent to save. 



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